


Obey your Heart's Desires

by Anchanee



Series: Serve your Happiness and Obey your Heart's Desires [2]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: AO3 1 Million, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anger, Angst, Arranged Marriage, Bottom!Thorin, Durincest, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Forced Marriage, Humility, Hurt/Comfort, Khuzdul as native tongue, M/M, Manipulation, Public Claiming, Sexual Content, Slash, Snogging, Still not clever to read at work or in the tube because people will look when you laugh out loud!, Top!Bilbo, mentions of past rape/non-con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-13
Updated: 2014-05-01
Packaged: 2017-12-26 11:14:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 50
Words: 210,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/965292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anchanee/pseuds/Anchanee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For those who don't know "Serve your Happiness" I would suggest to start there, because this is actually the second part of the story how Bilbo and Thorin find together after being forced into marriage. Well the marriage will occur here, but the forcing was done in the first part.</p><p>Had the first part dealt with the Durins and other dwarrows in the Shire, Bilbo is now reaching the Blue Mountains and has to face a new life in the middle of people he can't understand if they speak their native tongue. Who don't know anything about gardening, good food, laziness and sunshine, about everything that makes life worth living for a hobbit.</p><p>But he HAS to be here, and he HAS to find a way to ensure the survival of the dwarven kingdom, because Thorin was the price for his help, and he had accepted it by proposing to him. Now he has to make Thorin's sacrifice for his people worth it. And believe me, it will be hard work to turn this ship around. Because honestly, how can a whole kingdom now so little about something so essential as growing food?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Travelling

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Redone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redone/gifts).



> You can find the "cover" for this story over here: http://odekiisu.tumblr.com/post/60862496625/finished-the-camera-ate-some-details-mom-we  
> Ode is amazing and to see Bilbo and Thorin come to life in her picture was breathtaking.  
> Still if anything about my story inspires you, just tell me, because I would love to see it, even if it's just a sketch.

Bilbo was tending to the stew he was able to make from the two fat rabbits Kíli had managed to hunt this afternoon. Though his dwarrows had protested, and the rest of their traveling companions, who were taking care of the numerous wagons that held the much-needed provisions for the Blue Mountains, watched him with unease, the hobbit was currently cutting carrots, parsley and potatoes to expand the meal.

Reluctantly the Durins had accepted that there was really no use in trying to convince Bilbo that his ‘greens’ were not needed in the delicious stew, and had left their hobbit alone. Over the last few days Bilbo had established his position as chef of the group and even while initially the guarding dwarrows he barely knew had looked at his creations with mistrust, everybody had decided that he was perfect for the position, once they had tasted his meals.

 

Bilbo imagined that after suffering from deprivation for so long, everything would taste like a food for the gods for these poor dwarrows. So he had made a promise to himself that once they had arrived at the dwarven kingdom, he would cook for them and show them what a REAL meal should be like. A meal with a cold starter of salad and maybe freshly baked bread at the side; followed by a hot soup, potato-soup with bacon would be great, maybe even served in a bowl of bread, just to show off.

Giddy with the thought, Bilbo allowed his mind to wander and plan the whole meal. As a main dish … what could he serve as a main dish that would impress these dwarrows? Yes, maybe venison, that would be quite easy to come by, because Fíli and Kíli had told him about the vast forests that started not far from the entrance to the dwarven halls. A nice, satisfying roast with peas and maybe even sweetened cranberries, with a side of potato dumplings would be nice. Afterwards a bowl of fruit salad, richly garnished with whipped cream and a little liquor for seasoning. He would teach these dwarrows that fruits and vegetables could be REALLY delicious.

For those who didn’t like sweet fruits, he could create a breathtaking plate of various cheeses. He wondered if Bombur had a wide range of them in his pantry. Nuts at the side and maybe even a few berries would be great. It was the end of the season and if he found any kind of berries around here somewhere, they would be ripe and sweet. Bilbo licked his lips at these thoughts and stirred the stew with renewed vigour, excited at the prospect of cooking for so many.

Thorin, Fíli and Kíli, as well as Balin and Dwalin were used to the excellent meals a hobbit tended to produce five to seven times a day. But the ‘new’ dwarrows and those who had accompanied the other two caravans from the Blue Mountains, had only spent very little time in the Shire. Therefore they had not experienced the life style and eating habits of the hobbits to the fullest. Well that would change, Bilbo would change that. For the first time he expected his position as future consort to come in handy.

 

Dwalin and Thorin had decided that Fíli and Kíli were in dire need of a training session, so they had set their things aside and were currently sparring on the wide meadow that they had chosen as their resting place for the night. A small stream ran right through it and made it perfect for camping out. The water was only wide enough for Bilbo to fill his kettle and wash off the dust from the road, before he had started to prepare dinner.

After watching them with critical eyes, allowing himself one or another comment, Balin had found his place beside Bilbo, puffing away on his pipe while the hobbit was cooking. For someone who had no experience with fighting whatsoever, Balin admired Bilbo’s skill with the kitchen knife. The rabbits were skinned and disembowelled in the blink of an eye. The hobbit had even taken it upon himself to prepare the rabbit skin to be cured once they reached the mountain. The way he had stripped it of all the sliver skin, it might even survive their travel.

Stirring the stew absentmindedly, now that the plan for his first meal in the Blue Mountains was finished, Bilbo’s mind wandered to the events that had brought them all together. He smiled a little because of how it all had turned out and hummed to himself in a low voice. The white-haired dwarf brought him back to the present. “What are you thinking about, Master Baggins?”

Looking to the elderly dwarf, Bilbo stated sternly, “That I have asked you numerous times to call me Bilbo, yet you are as stubborn as your brother in that aspect. He still only calls me Bilbo when we are among ourselves.”

Gesturing towards the guards Balin argued, “And what kind of impression would it leave, when the Councillor of the kings doesn’t show the proper respect to the next consort of the Blue Mountains?”

Clutching his spoon, Bilbo looked back at the Durins. His fiancé looked upon Fíli with a grave face. He was wielding a sword and demonstrated what he wanted the younger fighter to do. Obviously Fíli hadn’t yet managed to meet his expectations, because his boy looked tired and frustrated. Yet he still clutched his own blades harder, and tried again. What a difference …

“I can’t believe that these are the same people I found on my doorstep four months ago,” admitted Bilbo.

When Balin only looked at him with interest, the hobbit started his walk down memory lane.

“They were wet and miserable, half-starved, angry and terribly scared, and the worst thing was: I didn’t even see it then.” Bilbo stirred the stew and hung his head, continuing in barely a whisper. “I made them tea and sandwiches, offered them a bath and rooms and all the while there was this tension in the air that I neither could understand nor get a grip on. I tried everything to be a good host, yet all I achieved was to confuse Mister Tall-Dark-and-Handsome over there.”

Balin nearly suffocated on the smoke he had accidentally swallowed, at Bilbo’s apt description of Thorin Oakenshield. When he raised his eyebrows at the hobbit, Bilbo only shrugged good-naturedly. They were engaged after all, who had a right to make a little fun of the dwarven prince if not him?

Laughing, Bilbo stated, “I am right and you know it. And when they came, there was me, a little hobbit from the Shire, totally overwhelmed by the three handsome dwarrows in my home, even though he detested me in the beginning. Has he told you that I brought the metal thingy for the first guestroom, the one that read the god of your people, specifically for him? Well not for him personally but for whoever would stay in this room. And when he entered, and told me that he liked it … I was so happy about it because I finally thought that I had done something right.”

Smiling slightly, because Thorin’s secrecy at the day of their departure made suddenly so much more sense to him, the dwarf observed innocently, “He must like it very much indeed. Otherwise he wouldn’t have gone back for it.”

“Gone back for it?” Bilbo looked at Balin with confusion, before his eyes nearly popped out of his head, when he made the connection. “Are you telling me … are you telling me that he brought it with him?”

Giving a noncommittal shrug, Balin just took another deep, soothing drag from his pipe and asked, “What happened after the bath?”

Grinning at the memory, Bilbo revealed, “Lobelia Sackville-Baggins brought scones.”

At Balin’s questioning look he continued, “I had offered my own clothes for my new guests, because theirs were all wet and clammy. When Thorin was dressed after his bath, Lobelia was standing at my doorstep and tried to sneak in, to get a peek at my exotic guests. They had been the topic of the gossip ever since it had been decided that they would come.

“Now, Thorin stood in my hallway, clean and properly groomed, but still in clothes that couldn’t fit him any worse. Because, you know, I’m a hobbit, we don’t wear long trousers that constrict our shanks, and I am wider around the middle than Thorin. I promise you, Lobelia would have died to get a good look at him, and spread the word all over the Shire within the hour that my guest was wearing my clothes.”

Dreading where this was going, imagining the humiliation of his prince being first presented to this loud and vulgar woman who seemed to wear clashing colours on principle, wearing ill-fitting clothes and utterly miserable, Balin hesitated to ask for the story to be continued. Bilbo was distracted by the bubbling stew that obviously needed more salt, and the dwarf had learned that nothing could divert a hobbit better from a topic than the preparation or the consummation of a meal. Yet he found himself unable to pull his thoughts away from the scene.

So after a little while he asked, “And what did happen with Thorin and Lobelia, I mean Missus Sackville-Baggins?”

The dwarven prince chose precisely that moment to approach the fire. He obviously had watched and listened for a while now. Balin looked towards the training ground, realizing that Dwalin was now sparring with Fíli, while Kíli was training with the bow.

Putting away his weapons and gloves, Thorin walked over to where his hobbit was sitting and leaned in to him for the briefest of moments, inhaling his clean scent, before sitting down next to them. “Bilbo spared me the humiliation of being presented to the first hobbit outside of Bag End overly tired and with ill-fitting clothes. Instead he kept me hidden and shooed that woman away. But we still kept her scones.”

Sharing a smile with his lover, Thorin continued Bilbo’s story. “After the most opulent dinner we’d had in years, we went to bed, still unsure of what the next day would bring.”

The hobbit sighed silently, mumbling angrily, “Yes … sent to me to be judged. Sent to work for me. What a stupid idea!”

Balin looked from Bilbo to Thorin and back again, before he asked, “But that was the deal between our king and the thain, wasn’t it? That members of his clan should come to Hobbiton to serve and obey you. Yet you sent them out to work for others. Why?”

“Because that’s where they could do the most good.” Bilbo looked at his fiancé, gently pulling back a lock of his hair that hung into his face. “I only knew that three dwarrows would come to me, to serve in the Shire over the summer. There was so much to do, so I simply found positions for them where they would be the most useful for all of us.”

With a smile Thorin concluded, “As blacksmith and woodworkers, and what an amazing first day that had been.”

“Bilbo showed me the forge and left me there, taking Fíli and Kíli away to his cousin Falco, where they would help the Chubb-Bagginses. A wiser choice has never been made, because the boys were instantly smitten with Amanda’s twins and learned to change the nappies on their very first day. For me, on the other hand, it was not so easy.”

Laughing lightly, simply because now, looking back at the events, he found he could actually laugh at them, Thorin looked at Bilbo, gently brushing over his wrist where the silver bracelet still sat, unmoved ever since he had given it. “The inhabitants of Hobbiton all swarmed me and clamoured for me to repair their broken tools and toys. I didn’t know how to handle myself because I had to prove myself humble. So shouting at them and demanding order was out of the question. Luckily Bilbo swooped in, shooed away the other hobbits and helped me to prepare for my first workday. I made good use of the available materials and carved this bracelet for him.”

Lovingly Bilbo touched the material; it was a little dull from frequent handling, but the hobbit really couldn’t care less. In a low voice he admitted, “It was what made me believe you after my proposal.” Looking up at his fiancé, he saw Thorin nodding his agreement, before the dwarf gently touched Bilbo’s hand again, brushing his lips adoringly over the inner wrist.

Confused by that revelation, Balin asked, “How can a plain piece of metal convince you of our prince’s honestly?”

Sighing slightly, clearly tired even from remembering the dire and exhausting scene that had followed the discovery of the last letter his grandfather had written to the king, the letter that had exposed his dwarrows’ ‘hidden’ intentions, Bilbo dampened the fire beneath the pot so that it wouldn’t burn, intertwining one hand with his lover. After sharing a brief glance, Thorin repeated his initial explanation from three months ago.

“I told Bilbo that we had come to the Shire by the order of our king. That our people had been starving for the last two winters, and that we wouldn’t make it through the coming one. We need the help of the Shire to feed our people, and that Master Took had only agreed on the condition that at least one member of our clan proves himself worthy, worthy by Bilbo’s judgement and therefore worthy of the hobbits’ help.

“I revealed that we had been supposed to come to Hobbiton and make the hobbit in question, in this case Bilbo, believe that we DID care about him. We hadn’t helped them, when they had needed us two winters ago, so the thain thought us stubborn and arrogant and unable to deal with the hobbits in a respectful manner. If Bilbo had judged one of us suitable to serve and obey, the thain promised to trade with us.”

Clutching his hands nervously, due to the memories, Thorin calmed down considerably when Bilbo stoke soothingly over his palm. The hobbit’s words were soft once again, to calm his fiancé. “I stormed right to the thain and confronted my grandfather. He shouted at Thorin, yet I insisted on him dealing with me instead. He confirmed Thorin’s story and … well it was wrong, always had been, always will be. Such a trade is simply not right. So I made it right, by proposing.”

“But when we were back at Bag End and I got my wits together again, I realized what ‘your son and grandsons’, when written by a king, really meant and that I had hosted princes of the Durin Line under my roof without knowing it. I thought that I had made a fool of myself rather thoroughly and shouted at Thorin as well as at Fíli and Kíli.” Gazing over to the meadow where the young dwarrows obviously were about to wrap up their training session, he stirred the pot once again.

It took a little while before the hobbit continued. “I was really angry that night and thought myself the fool of the century. I was convinced that all of us were in this situation solely because our families hadn’t given us any other choice, and that Thorin would prefer somebody else to me, anybody else in fact. But Thorin told me that he would have never, ever accepted a proposal from another hobbit. That he really wanted me and no one else.”

Smiling at his fiancé, he brushed his fingers over the bracelet. “I didn’t believe him, I am a simple hobbit, how could I have believed him? But Thorin told me that he had engraved the proof of his words into the bracelet he had given me on his second day in the Shire. That he had set his mind on me and only me, no matter what would happen otherwise. And he demanded that Fíli and Kíli should read it to me because he'd had enough of me contradicting him every step of the way, rebutting his reasons for agreeing to my proposal.”

With a low chuckle, Thorin moved his head, remembering the shouting match in Bilbo’s garden. It was so easy to look back to these things now and laugh about them, even when he knew that they had been horrible for him at the time. When he saw Balin’s confused gaze, he looked at Bilbo for permission, before cautiously pulling the bracelet from the hobbit’s wrist, presenting it to the Councillor.

Balin’s face softened in understanding when he touched the inside of the bracelet, his fingers tracing the word in dwarven runes, before handing it back to its owner. In a soft voice the white-haired dwarf decided, “You are right, you could not have chosen anything more suitable for our hobbit. As it turned out, he _is_ the saviour of us all.”

 

Now Fíli and Kíli returned to the fire, looking at the small group questioningly when Bilbo pulled the sleeves back down to cover the bracelet once again. Kíli turned out to be the nosy one, because even as he was still untangling his shooting-glove, he asked, “What have you been talking about?”

Bilbo smiled at him, reaching for his hand to untangle the messed-up straps of leather. “Your first month in the Shire.”

Fíli however looked at his hands, clearly troubled by the thought, and asked, “About the glory-box and Kíli’s getting sick?”

After being finished with his brother, Bilbo gently reached for Fíli, brushing over his neck soothingly. His words were soft and kind. “No, Fíli, we have talked neither about Kíli nor about my mother’s glory-box. But Kíli is right here, well and happy, and the glory-box is in the caravan. So there really is no need for you to look so worried. Now please go and tell the others that dinner is ready.”

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

When everybody had eaten, admitting grumpily that the vegetables HAD been a good idea, and the dishes had been cleaned and were stored away safely, the Durins and the Sons of Fundin found themselves around a small fire, not far from their ponies. It didn’t take them long to stretch out on their bedrolls, enjoying the warm summer-night, looking up at the stars.

After a little while Balin asked, “What happened to your mother’s glory-box, Bilbo? I know that the chest is perfectly alright. I strapped it in after all.”

Feeling the tension radiating of their boys bodies, Thorin and Bilbo shared a look before rising and moving their bedrolls so that they sandwiched Fíli and Kíli between them. After a little while, the youngest dwarf’s voice could be heard, “I happened to it.”

Only to be instantly corrected by his brother, “We both stepped onto it and broke it …

“When Bilbo had shown us our workplace, when we realized that he had no intention of separating us, we were giddy with excitement. For two weeks everything was really good, Falco … I mean Master Chubb-Baggins was really nice and Missus Chubb-Baggins was so friendly and always made sure that we had enough to eat. The fauntlings were adorable and we cared for them so much right from the beginning.”

Now Kíli piped up, obviously feeling safer with Bilbo at his back and his uncle at Fíli’s other side where he could see him. In a reluctant voice he continued, “We came home one evening, all excited that the babies had babbled for the first time. We fought childishly and when we nearly tumbled into uncle, we stepped on the glory box and destroyed it.”

Shivering slightly, Kíli reached for Bilbo’s small fingers that held him tight. “We hurt Bilbo by hurting his things, when he had been nothing but kind and supportive to us. We tried to get Master Chubb-Baggins to make it whole again the next day, but he said that he couldn’t do it.”

Snuggling deeper into his uncle’s chest, Fíli continued, “But he said that he could help us do it ourselves. And uncle helped with the lock.”

A little confused by the explanation, Balin tried to sum it up. “So you both destroyed the box but mended it again afterwards.” When the princes nodded, he decided, “Then you truly have a talent for working with wood, because I wouldn’t have spotted that by an overall inspection. It looks nearly flawless to me.”

Bilbo smiled a little, using his second hand – the one that was not clutched by Kíli – to groom through the young dwarf’s hair. “Because they put a lot of effort into it and the mending is perfect. They even engraved the inside with their insignia, a bow and two swords.”

“So you were not angry with them for destroying your property? You did not punish them for it?” Dwalin’s deep voice was full of curiosity. Up until now, he had only listened in silence. Yet Bilbo’s generous behaviour had him confused because even after making amends, a dwarf was used to retaliation from the one he had faulted.

With a noncommittal shrug, Bilbo decided, “Well, I guess Kíli’s illness can be seen as a rightful punishment, because both he and Fíli suffered as a consequence.”

When the Sons of Fundin looked at the little family with curious eyes, Thorin sighed and explained. “After a particular wet afternoon in the river, Kíli developed a very high fever. Bilbo took great care of him, cooking him tea and light meals, treating him with medicine from the Shire. Yet it still got worse. It got so bad that he called for Fíli because Kíli was delirious and nearly out of his mind.”

Reaching for his brother, assuring himself that he was alright, Fíli continued, “Kíli was frantic, repeating over and over again that Bilbo had promised that he wouldn’t separate us when I reached him that afternoon. Something Bilbo had only promised due to his anxiety caused by his high fever. He didn’t know the circumstances of our stay with him, so he couldn’t even fathom what such a promise meant to us and how much it hurt to hear that he had only given it to appease a sick patient.”

Fíli closed his eyes for a moment, before he explained, “We treated Kíli the same way we treated Thorin when he got the sun-stroke. It was hard and we were scared and after that, Bilbo allowed me in the room with him, even though he had kept us apart initially, to protect me from whatever Kee had caught.”

Brushing over Kíli’s cheek, even when he had to reach over Fíli’s body, Thorin remembered. “It took Kíli nearly one week to get better, and when he finally came to my guest-room in the early morning, for the first time strong enough to stand on his own legs, we carried Bilbo from the armchair in the boy’s room to his own bed and finally settled in for the first relaxing rest in six days.”

Dwalin chuckled lowly. “So there was a time when you had your own room in Bag End, when you actually were sleeping alone?”

Rising to his elbows, looking at his cheeky friend, Thorin informed him, “Yes I did, initially. But very soon I decided that I preferred to sleep in the company of my lover, no matter how luxurious the single bed might be. Very much like you, my friend, so I am sure you can share the sentiment.”

After a thunderous look form Dwalin towards the eldest Durin prince, everybody settled back onto their bedrolls, closing their eyes to drift off to sleep.

Only, Bilbo opened his eyes again when he heard the breathing of everybody even out. He missed the weight of his fiancé on his chest. The day had brought back many memories, and a part of him was surprised how much things had changed between him and the Durins.

Snuggling into the youngest member of his new family, Bilbo met Thorin’s eyes over Fíli’s back. Obviously he was not the only one still awake. Intertwining their fingers over the expanse of their boys’ bodies, the couple shared a smile, before finally drifting off to sleep.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 


	2. Relationships

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A pleasant waking up - at least for Thorin - followed by painful memories.   
> And: Dwalin's school of courting ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See, three days. Just like I promised ;).

The next morning Bilbo woke with a pleasant weight on his chest, and a rather disturbing one on his stomach. When he tried to fight his way up he found himself overwhelmed by the weight on his body. So he sleepily opened his eyes and looked down. He couldn’t supress a smile at the scene that was illuminated by the early morning light.

Fíli was lying with his head on his chest, and his feet stretched over Thorins stomach. Kíli was the one who lay on his stomach, snoring slightly into his soft belly. The youngest dwarf’s feet were intertwined with those of his uncle and he was holding on to his brother. Enveloped partially by his younger brother, Fíli had captured Bilbo’s arm and held him fast on his chest, as if afraid that the hobbit might leave them.

Meeting the amused eyes of his fiancé, Bilbo shook his head and asked in a whisper, “How do you get them off?”

 

Terribly enjoying the picture of his future husband and his nephews intertwined on the ground, Thorin had enjoyed watching them since sunset. He had even seen Bilbo reaching into his direction once or twice subconsciously, but Fíli had held onto his future uncle adamantly and had even made troubled noises, when the hobbit had tried to pull his hand away. He remembered the countless times Fíli and Kíli had rearranged themselves like that, while sleeping between Dís and himself, during their travels. Yet he had never thought the picture as adorable as he did today.

Grinning at the worried eyes of his lover, he slowly lifted his leg and unwound himself from Kíli. After that he simply rolled around, and Fíli’s legs gently slid down to earth. He took the boys’ bags as well as his cloak and approached Bilbo. The hobbit was on his way of gently lifting Fíli’s head of his chest. Thorin immediately supported Kíli’s head, when his fiancé tried to move away. They placed the bags under the boy’s heads and their uncle covered them with his wide cloak to keep them warm, when the other sources of heat were gone.

 

Relieved beyond compare, Bilbo whispered, “Thank you, and now I really have to go.”

“Go where?” Thorin asked in confusion.

Bilbo rolled his eyes, “Somewhere not here!”

With a sheepish grin Thorin stepped out of the way, and watched his hobbit dash off. While pulling out the pan to fry some bread and preparing everything for breakfast, the dwarf watched his fiancé with hawk’s eyes until Bilbo was back at the camp. Helping each other with breakfast, they both enjoyed the chance to be close, without looking weird. The guards were still asking themselves why their prince was about to marry a hobbit.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

Seeing his future king back to his old self, armed and primed, Dwalin was asking himself the very same thing. Bilbo and Thorin couldn’t be any more different and the warrior had become used to his prince pining after his fiancé in the Shire. After all, Bilbo had shown strength and cunning there, rivalling a dwarf. But it was a little strange for Dwalin to see the besottedness still in Thorin’s eyes, even though Bilbo was clearly out of his depths when on the road.

It was obvious that the hobbit still wasn’t very keen on riding and sat in the saddle a little stiff. Yet when they had jumped across a small part of the stream to scout at the other side, and Bilbo had managed to remain in his saddle, Thorin had looked at him as if his hobbit had just slain a dragon.

How very lost Dwalin was in his own thoughts could be seen when Kíli managed to sneak up on him from behind, startling him when he asked, “You seem a little irritated, Master Dwalin. Is something wrong?”

True, the boys were less annoying during this journey than they had been before; still Dwalin wasn’t one to gossip, so he just shook his head, grumbling a little under his breath.

His usual irritation with the young Durins returned when Fíli guided his pony right next to him. “And here I was wondering if there was actually a time when the two of you weren’t attached by the hip,” Dwalin muttered, a little aggravated at being bracketed between the Durin princes.

Watching the warrior from the corner of his eye, ignoring his grumpy comment, Fíli decided, “You are wondering about Thorin and Bilbo.”

“Yes.” Dwalin didn’t like to admit it, but Fíli had shown great personal progress over this summer, as had Kíli. It was like the boys had grown up a good deal, but their concentration and obvious insight into his thoughts was not something the warrior cherished.

Smiling, obviously guessing Dwalin’s thoughts, Fíli explained, “You have been watching them for the best part of the last few days. It was not that hard to make the guess that you were thinking about them.”

Kíli turned towards his brother and Dwalin, asking confusedly, “What’s there to watch? Master Dwalin has seen them for the last two months.”

Looking at his uncle’s bodyguard, waiting to see if the warrior wanted to say something on the matter, Fíli finally decided to share his insight. “Yes, there is. Uncle is back to being a prince instead of a blacksmith. And while the difference between Uncle and Bilbo was quite palpable in the Shire, it’s even more prominent here. Still they seem to be smitten with each other.”

Admitting defeat, Dwalin hung his shoulders now that his inner thoughts had been revealed. “Yes, I wonder what Bilbo sees in our future king that made him offer his hand in the first place. But maybe it’s just that: Thorin being the future king. He has never been able to hide that part of himself completely.”

Looking incredibly hurt on behalf of their favourite hobbit, Kíli asked in a low voice, “Is that really what you think of Bilbo?”

Sighing slightly after having watched the hobbit share one of his (obviously terribly amusing) stories with one of the guards, making him laugh, before looking at Thorin with mirth in his eyes, Dwalin shook his head. “No, not really. It’s just … out here it’s even harder to understand what brought them together than in Hobbiton. There Thorin was a simple blacksmith, and Bilbo nothing more than a well-off scholar. Here the hobbit is nothing but our chef and who knows what duties he will take up in the Blue Mountains. Well, apart from tending to our corn, but that grows mostly by itself. And Thorin is … our future king. How do they fit?”

“Why are you so worried about that?” Kíli’s voice clearly showed his concern over Dwalin’s doubts of two of his favourite people.

Shrugging, the warrior admitted, “Because if we don’t know what had brought it on, how can we help them to make it last? I have never seen Thorin so happy ever since Erebor.”

With an equally tender and admiring look on his face Fíli stated, “You are worried for them. Because you know that living in the Blue Mountains will be demanding for both of them.”

When Dwalin nodded nearly imperceptibly – he was not used to sharing his concerns with anybody but his brother – Fíli smiled a little and asked impishly, “Have you ever thought about mutual attraction?”

“Attraction?” Dwalin looked at the young prince, as if the concept was completely foreign to him, something both brothers knew to be absolutely wrong, because they had seen the way he had watched their mother. And especially the way their mother had watched him in return.

“Attraction!” Sharing a wink with his brother, Fíli asked, “Do you remember the first morning after the proposal, Kee? How Uncle seemed enchanted by Bilbo’s beauty and Bilbo in return with Uncle’s handsomeness?”

Laughing out loud, Kíli nodded. How on Middle-earth could he ever forget that?

When both boys felt Dwalin’s curious gaze on them, they began to talk. Alternately! Fíli was first.

“They were awake since first breakfast. At least we think so, because the cups from the first round of tea were still on the table.”

“Yet we found them on the bench in front of the smial. You know, the small one with all the flowers surrounding it.”

“When we peeked outside, Uncle Thorin was braiding Bilbo’s hair. Bilbo sat at his feet, clearly enjoying himself, but Uncle was so pale as if he would faint any moment. His legs twitched nervously and his arms always bent themselves, before he could pull them back so that he would not hug Bilbo, but continue to braid his hair.”

“And when Bilbo finally rose, and turned around towards Uncle, he … they kissed! And what a kiss that was. Both of their spines were straight like an arrow. Bilbo seemed ready to climb to Uncle’s lap and from the looks of it, Uncle would have allowed it. They enjoyed it for several minutes until we made ourselves known. Then Bilbo ordered us to get inside and not to watch because that is rude. And we had to set the table for second breakfast.”

“After that they kind of gravitated towards each other. Bilbo was so friendly and happy all the time, laughing and making fun with us. And Uncle finally joined in. He allowed the hobbit to touch him, just like Bilbo touched us, with small gestures and absolute ease, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. But instead of pulling back like he had before, Uncle allowed them, even savoured them after a little while.”

Kíli’s voice was smaller when he continued, “Ever since grandmother died, Uncle didn’t have anyone who would take care of him, who would touch him not with command and urgency like grandfather but with gentleness and care. I think he had missed this before, maybe even without knowing it, because he became much more relaxed after allowing the contact.”

Confirming his brother’s impression, Fíli remembered, “Even more so after Master Took visited. He wanted to talk to Bilbo about us, at least that’s what Bilbo told us afterwards. But he seemed to have come to an agreement with Uncle, because he didn’t even flinch any more when the thain of the Shire was mentioned. Everything was really going well.”

“And then there was the wedding,” Kíli interrupted with a deadpan look.

Lowering his head as if ashamed, Fíli admitted in a low voice, “Yes, then came the wedding.”

 

Curious because the usually so talkative boys didn’t even try to elaborate on the subject, Dwalin felt inclined to ask, “What’s about the wedding? Who got married?”

“The Underhills,” Was Kíli’s sole reply and suddenly Dwalin remembered. There was this little hobbit lady who had come to Thorin several times over the last two months. The warrior had thought that she fancied his friend a bit, but obviously she really had only come around to talk, just like Thorin had claimed right from the beginning. She always brought something around for Thorin to mend, and always stayed when he was working on the next piece.

Fíli stayed silent for a little while longer, and obviously Kíli too was reluctant to breach the subject. Only when they heard Dwalin clear his throat expectantly, did the older brother speak up again.

“Ahead of the wedding Bag End was like a beehive. You saw it, before the harvest festival. But it was even worse for us the first time around. Hobbits pressed in on us for two days. We couldn’t even go to work to escape them, because it was the same at the Chubb-Bagginses’ place. Then everything was prepared and we were allowed to babysit and Amanda looked so beautiful with the flowers in her hair, even when Kíli forgot to tell Bilbo about the braiding ahead of the wedding.”

Oblivious to his rambling and the fact that Dwalin most likely couldn’t make the slightest sense of his words, Fíli took a deep breath. “The afternoon was great and the ceremony different but still beautiful. We all were out in the open and everything was decorated so brilliantly. And when everything was finished and the true celebration began, we sat together and I asked … I asked …”

Trailing his fingers through his golden strands, Fíli finally pressed out between from between his clenched teeth: “I asked about the public claiming.”

Confused by the admission that had obviously cost the young prince so much courage, Dwalin looked from the older to the younger brother and back again. He couldn’t make any sense of that revelation. Public Claiming was an integral part of a wedding. He couldn’t see what was so bad about that question. “So?”

Kíli continued where his brother could not. “Hobbits are not very fond of public displays of intimacy. At first Bilbo laughed at the idea, then he shouted at Thorin that he would NEVER, EVER do that. Then he stormed off. It was so horrible and Uncle looked so hurt.”

“I would have given everything to take that back. Uncle has the uncanny ability to put his foot in his mouth with Bilbo. Yet this time really topped it all. He looked so wounded when Bilbo said that he would never show himself with Thorin in public like that. And we didn’t know what to do. Eventually Uncle went after him. We saw him sitting under a tree a little while later, talking to the Old Took. But we never found out what they were talking about.”

With a deep sigh Kíli said, “They returned more than an hour later. Bilbo looked calm again and Uncle a little better. They shooed us off and when we sneaked a quick look at them, they didn’t look so wound up any more.”

Fíli again took the cue. “The next morning Uncle had clearly not slept in his room for long, so I went to the kitchen to ask Bilbo if he was still mad at him. And … and to apologize. But Uncle came in a moment later and … there was something … something between him and Bilbo, I don’t know what had happened but they were not angry with each other any longer. And I was so glad for it.”

“You forgot the best part,” Kíli barged in with a slight smile on his face. When his brother looked at him questioningly, the young dwarf reminded him. “You do remember what Bilbo did BEFORE they came back to the table, to talk to each other?”

“Oh yes!” Fíli and Kíli shared a laugh before they turned to Dwalin, their eyes glittering with joy, “Bilbo kissed Uncle, in the middle of the dance floor. Every last attendant of the party could see them. It was UTTERLY brilliant!”

And with that joyous memory the brothers rushed of, urging their ponies to chase each other like children. Why, by Mahal, had the warrior ever thought that those two had grown up?

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

Later that night, when Fíli was on watch duty, Dwalin joined him, because the annoyingly cheerful chirping of the crickets kept him awake. Still curious about his best friend’s relationship, the bald dwarf asked, surrounded by the protective mantle of the night, “The hobbit has no problems with ‘private’ claiming from what I have gotten over the last few weeks.”

The darkness seemed to help Fíli too, because after an especially deep drag from his pipe he admitted, “No, he doesn’t, but Uncle Thorin nearly blew it after their first night together.”

Not wanting to barge into something that personal, Dwalin laid off the questions. Yet Fíli seemed strangely urged to get this story off his chest. “Kee and I decided to leave them alone, because honestly,” he snorted lowly, “the puppy-eyes they made at each other were more than we could take. From what we got they had made good use of the night. Everything had been perfect, at least until the next morning.”

“Kee wanted to interrogate Bilbo separately, so I went to the forge to get the story out of uncle. But when I arrived there …” Fíli took another deep drag and shook slightly at the memory. His uncle’s eyes had been so full of pain and his body overly exhausted. And not in the way Fíli had expected him to be.

The night had settled around them, and apart from an occasional stomping of the ponies, nothing could be heard now. High time for Dwalin to get some rest, but the dwarf was unable to rise and leave the young prince. Fíli’s voice mirrored his concern for his uncle from that horrible day. “Uncle was completely beside himself. Nearly as bad as grandfather after … you know … Moria …

“When I asked him, he denied having fought with Bilbo in the first place, rebuffed the possibility of having hurt Bilbo.” Feeling the need to justify such a thought, Fíli interrupted his own story with a defensive, “I had to ask, you know. Because Bilbo is so small and Uncle is … not.” Shaking his head he continued.

“Well it was like Erebor all over again, at least from what mum told me. He was shell-shocked, confused and so utterly, utterly sad that I didn’t even know what to do. Then Kíli came and shoved him straight off the bench. He was so full of anger and hatred. I think Kee reflected the feelings Bilbo couldn’t voice, because when I talked to him afterwards he said that Bilbo hadn’t been much better off than Uncle, desperate and completely closed off.”

“Had he … _had_ he hurt Bilbo?” What a horrible thing to ask … to even think about his best friend. But what else could have caused such a desperate reaction in both partners?

Shaking his head and then nodding, Fíli confused Dwalin terribly until he explained, “No, he didn’t, at least not in the way we thought. And yes he did, more than we could have ever imagined. You know Bilbo was … maybe still is … very much confused about why Uncle likes him the way he does. And, as you know, hobbits tend to use the easiest way to get information: they ask.”

“And Thorin said something very stupid,” Dwalin mused.

Confirming this suspicion Fíli whispered, “Yes, he did. He explained his display of affection with an attempt to make Bilbo agree to the public claiming.”

“Oh …” Was Dwalin’s sole response regarding that revelation. He hadn’t had a lot of lovers in his life. Lady-dwarrows were rare, and his adoration for the princess hadn’t helped the matter. But even he knew that you didn’t try to convince your partner that he or she had solely been means to an end. Not even when the ‘end’ was mutual relief. You were friendly, and maybe even gave a compliment. If you couldn’t, you just remained silent and smiled. Clearly nobody had explained that to Thorin.

“What did he do?” Dwalin’s voice was as reluctant, as he had been when breaching the subject in the first place. He downright flinched when he felt a strong hand on his shoulder, and the deep voice of his friend, close to his ear enlighten him, “I apologized.”

 

Nodding his nephew off, Thorin took his place as a night watch and for a few moments, both friends sat in the dark, thinking over what they had heard. When the silence got heavier with the unasked questions in Dwalin’s mind, Thorin sighed deeply and admitted. “I was a fool and a coward. Never before in my life have I felt the way I feel with Bilbo. So when he asked me why I wanted to be with him, I didn’t know what to say because … because lying seemed to be the easier way out. A safer option than revealing how much he already meant to me. Giving him so much more chance to hurt me, by rejecting my advances.

“That evening, when I finally pulled myself together and apologized, Bilbo returned to his overly generous self again and forgave me. Honestly I don’t know if I would have done the same. I was a cowardly ass and still all my hobbit demanded was for me to be honest with him in the future. Nothing more, nothing less. I can’t think of any dwarf who would have been as lenient with me as he was.”

“Not even your sister?” was Dwalin’s gruff reply.

“Especially not my sister!” Thorin snickered, before turning towards his friend. “If you pull half the stunts with her that I have sentenced Bilbo to suffer through, she will shear your head and your beard for good measure and it will probably take you YEARS to get on her good side again.”

Looking at his best friend, Thorin stated in an earnest tone, “At least if I decide not to skin you alive for it. She is my sister after all, Dwalin. I won’t have her suffer any more than necessary, she has been through enough. She doesn’t deserve a lover – no matter how good his intentions – who treats her any other way than with uttermost honesty and devotion.”

“Only she?” was Dwalin’s clipped answer. He dared to follow Thorin’s gaze towards the hobbit who lay currently rolled up beneath a blanket, breathing evenly. He didn’t begrudge his best friend his threats. Siblings were meant to be protective of each other, care for each other and stand up for each other. Dís had always done so admirably, especially during the time when Thorin had carried the burden of leadership. It was good to see that it worked both ways.

After sharing one last calming pipe between them, Dwalin excused himself, to return to his bedroll. When he passed Bilbo, he couldn’t help to smile down at the amazing creature that had captured his best friend’s heart. Leaning down a little, he rectified the blanket so that it wouldn’t suffocate Bilbo, stating in a low voice, “You are really a lucky hobbit, Bilbo Baggins.”

Smiling contentedly, his eyes still closed, the hobbit whispered, nearly inaudibly, “I know.”

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 


	3. First Fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Exactly what the title says, and it won't be nice.  
> (Wait a sec, the fight is NOT between Bilbo and Thorin, you don't have to be anxious.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But it still is a fight, and it will be brutal, and there will be blood and Bilbo will freak out a little ... alright a lot, but what do you expect? He's a hobbit! The most vicious things in his life are moles!

The majority of their travel was quite uneventful. Just two days ahead of arriving at Ered Luin rabid wolves crossed their path. And while everybody got into formation, guards defending ponies, the Durins as well as the sons of Fundin closed a circle around Bilbo who watched the animals with panicking eyes.

The beasts acted not overly cleverly, simply attacking those around them. So for the most part, the dwarrows bested these beasts. Yet when more and more animals emerged from the woods, obviously drawn closer by the desperate howls from their pack, the dwarrows found themselves surrounded. The massive beasts circled the camp and nearly all of Kíli’s arrows were gone.

Fighting these mindless creatures, the group slowly split up, still careful to shield their hobbit. But when Kíli drew his sword to defend himself from a massive wolf that attacked him, he remained oblivious to a second beast that was about to jump him from behind.

Bilbo found himself back in his worst nightmare, only that it wasn’t snowing. Again he saw the people he loved being attacked by wolves and even though they were able to defend themselves, his panic threatened to drown him. He bit his fist, nearly crawling under a wagon to hide from the wolves. But he froze when he realized that Kíli was about to be attacked from behind.

He would not … could not allow a member of his family to be injured again. Not when he was aware of the threat. Reaching for his kitchen-knife he had buckled on in the Shire, he grabbed it firmly in his hand. Tentatively he stepped away from the wagon. He still hoped that Kíli would become aware of the threat. He should shout, that would be a wise choice, but he felt smothered by the scene around him.

Shaking heavily, he twisted the knife in his hand, and when the wolf jumped at Kíli, Bilbo flung the blade with all his might. It sunk into the neck of the mighty beast, making it howl and abandon its attack. That however was all Kíli needed to turn around. With a swift spin, he beheaded the other wolf, before chasing his original attacker again. Even when his boy was safe, Bilbo looked around frantically, shaking all over.

Hesitantly he approached the dead beast and only when he realized that it was not breathing any more, did he grab his knife and pulled it free; only to bury it up to the hilt in the dark pelt over and over again. The hobbit was hysterical; the picture of his parents being killed by a haggard wolf in winter was now overlaid with Kíli getting attacked by them. Only when he felt strong arms around his chest, pulling him back from the cadaver, did Bilbo find his voice again.

But all he could do was screaming mindlessly and whimper pathetically, while tears streamed over his face. Gently, cautiously, Kíli approached Bilbo and carefully took the blood-stained knife out of his bloody hands. Soon Fíli approached them too, and finally even Thorin came around form behind the leading wagon. Only now did Bilbo realize that Dwalin was holding him in a vice-like grip, obviously anxious to let him go.

Only when Thorin nodded to him and dragged Bilbo into a fierce hug, did the warrior let go of the hobbit. Thorin’s voice was clearly worried when he asked, “What happened?”

“Bilbo saved me,” was Kíli’s simple answer.

With a deep sigh, looking angrily at all the blood that holding on to the hobbit had smeared onto his knuckle-dusters, Dwalin took it upon himself to explain, “Kíli was fending off a wolf that tried to get to the ponies. He had had no chance to see the other wolf that approached him from behind. Bilbo however did and threw his kitchen-knife at the beast. By sheer luck or tremendous skill, the blade buried itself into the neck of the beast and Kíli killed it swiftly.

“Afterwards, Bilbo lost it a little bit,” Dwalin admitted, a little embarrassed that he had to voice what they all thought. The cadaver on the ground was all but butchered, and Bilbo’s knife slightly bent, something that told the warrior that the attacker had not worried about hitting its bones.

The whimpering had stopped and the Durins as well as the sons of Fundin – because Balin had joined them at the end of the story, after making sure that there were no major injuries that needed his attention – looked at their hobbit with concern. Even in Thorin’s arms they could see that he was shaking like a leaf.

Unsure of what to do – Bilbo had always been so strong, forceful even on occasion, and therefore what to do about a panicked hobbit was a little beyond Thorin’s experience – he beckoned Kíli over. The youngest Durin approached the pair and slowly began to groom Bilbo’s hair, while whispering, “You saved me, Bilbo. I’m perfectly alright because of what you did. Thank you. Without you I would be seriously wounded, but thanks to your help I am okay.”

As if that was exactly what their hobbit had needed to hear, Bilbo turned a little in Thorin’s arms, to be able to look at Kíli. When seeing the other dwarf ruffled but perfectly fine, he let go of Thorin and hugged Kíli fiercely.

After a few moments, Thorin unclenched his fiancé from his nephew and coaxed him, “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up. The blood will stain even more clothes if we don’t wash it off.”

After one last look at Kíli, the hobbit slowly nodded and allowed Thorin to guide him away. He still looked like in a trance.

Watching each other in utter confusion, Kíli finally asked, “What is wrong with Bilbo? He isn’t injured and neither am I. Why is he so frantic?”

Both Dwalin and Kíli looked at their respective older brothers, and it was Balin who enlightened them. “I highly doubt that Bilbo has had to fight for a single day in his life and with high probability this was the first life he took. The only experience he has had with violence and death, was Fell Winter when his parents died.”

But Fíli shook his head, taking the kitchen-knife from Kíli, rubbing over the blade. “Can’t be, Master Balin. Bilbo’s throw was dead-centre. I have seen him throwing things before. He’s exceptionally skilled with that. He once told me that he can hit a squirrel with a nut from fifteen feet away, not that he ever would of course.”

Shaking his head, Dwalin decided, “Well in the end it’s not really important if he was lucky or a good marksman. He’s with us now, so he should learn to defend himself and not panic in the face of violence.”

Sadly none of the dwarrows could dispute that statement. The life of a dwarf WAS much more violent than that of a hobbit.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’m so terribly sorry.” Bilbo was constantly babbling, ever since Thorin had guided him to a little stream nearby where the hobbit could wash the blood from his skin and at least partially from his clothes. Guards surrounded them, but chose to look the other way.

For a few moments Thorin allowed the frantic rubbing, at least until Bilbo’s fingers were getting red on their own, because the skin was starting to get irritated. Only then did the dwarf pull his lover away from the water and gently wrapped his hands in his shirt to dry them. He felt Bilbo’s body being wracked by tremor after tremor, and pulled him to his chest again to calm him down. He was deeply worried about his beloved. Until now Bilbo had nearly always been composed in the face of a crisis, this panic attack was entirely new and Thorin was a little lost.

Aiming for calmness and safety, Thorin wrapped Bilbo in his outer cloak and then closed his arms around his fiancé again. Whispering lowly into the hobbit’s hair he asked, “What are you sorry for? You hit the wolf quite thoroughly. Kíli might have been severely injured if not for you. You should be proud of yourself.”

“I … I know I hit him. But afterwards … I just …” unable to articulate his confusion and fear, Bilbo just snuggled deeper into Thorin’s embrace. Though he felt terribly embarrassed because of it, he felt hot tears wetting the dwarf’s shirt. But the prince gave no indication that he noticed Bilbo’s lack of self-restraint. Instead he pulled him in even further and gently rubbed over the hobbit’s back, until his pitiful sobs died down.

When Bilbo had calmed a little, Thorin guided them both back to the wagons, where camp had been made. It was already late in the afternoon and after the attack, where a few of the dwarfs had received minor wounds, nobody felt the need to press onward. They would be in the Blue Mountains in three days at the latest, most likely in two. The mountains already loomed over them majestically.

Back at the camp Kíli instantly went to Bilbo and looked down at his feet, somewhat ashamed. “I am sorry, Bilbo, that I was not able to defend you better.”

Fíli stood next to his brother and piped up, “In fact we both are. You should not have been forced to take up a weapon, not even a knife. We promised Master Took that we would protect you, yet we failed.”

Taking a deep breath, looking at Thorin who just smiled at his nephews, Bilbo took both of their hands, realizing for the first time that they were far more used to handle weapons than babies. “Thank you, Fíli and Kíli, for giving your very best, because I have no doubt that you will always do your best when it comes to our family. Yet you can’t take the sole responsibility for my safety. I will be 39 in a few days. I have to be able to stand up for myself.”

“39?” – “A few days?”

Three out of five dwarrows who attended this conversation stared at Bilbo, completely stunned at the revelation of his biological age.

“But that means …” Fíli stuttered.

“We are your elders!” Kíli concluded somewhat triumphantly.

Yet Bilbo would have none of that! Putting his hands on his hips, he stated, “You might have lived longer, but I am still the elder here. And now sod off and get me some water from the stream so that I can start dinner!”

The look of the hobbit seemed to work like a miracle on the young dwarrows, because they instantly turned around to get the kettle and left with an obedient, “Yes, Master Boggins.”

When they were gone Bilbo turned around again, and interrupted an obviously meaningful glare-duel between Dwalin and Thorin.

But as soon as Thorin felt his hobbit’s eyes back on him, he looked away from Dwalin and crossed his arms in front of his chest, “How long exactly are ‘a few days’?”

Shrugging his shoulders, Bilbo looked at Balin and asked, “What date is it?”

After a moment’s calculation, the eldest dwarf announced, “The 20th of September.”

Returning his eyes to his fiancé, Bilbo stated, “Two,” before gathering his things for dinner.

Exchanging a scandalized look with the Councillor and his guard, Thorin rushed after Bilbo and turned him around. A little breathlessly he asked, “Are you telling me that your 39th birthday is in two days and you didn’t even bother to tell me?”

Shrugging Thorin’s hand off in favour of presenting the dwarf with several vegetables to clean and slice, Bilbo sat down next to the fire, which a guard had set up, and started his preparations for the stew. “Sure. It’s not that big of a deal. I’m of age and the next birthday I will celebrate will probably be my fortieth. Us hobbits don’t care so much about our birthdays between our thirty-third and the hundredth one. Because having lived so long is REALLY an achievement for a hobbit and has to be celebrated. The others inbetween … they are just not important, merely a good excuse for a party. And where should I have made time to get presents for everybody? Especially not when we have more important things to attend to.”

Stunned that the hobbit had brushed off even the remotest chance for a celebration when it came to his birthday, and clearly confused about the present thing, Thorin sat beside the pot that Fíli and Kíli brought along a little while later and helped Bilbo with dinner, as did his nephews. They bragged a little that Kíli had nearly ten years on Bilbo and Fíli even more. Yet still the hobbit remained unimpressed and firm when correcting their actions when they didn’t pay proper attention to the food.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

After dinner Thorin decided that tonight they would keep watch in pairs after the attack. Thorin and Dwalin were the first on the lookout.

“You knew, didn’t you? That your fiancé was so young.” It had taken Dwalin some time to work up the courage to breach the subject. Yet when he finally did, he looked at his friend with worry.

Calmly looking around, the prince nodded. “Of course I did. Well, not right from the beginning, but Bilbo told me about his 33rd birthday one evening, and the brilliant party his parents had thrown for him, and the breathtaking celebration of his great-grandfathers 120th anniversary and that he had died only 6 months later. I think that was ahead of the Underhills’ wedding, that’s why you didn’t get that story.”

Smiling because at the moment that memorable event seemed like a lifetime away, Thorin told his best friend, “I realized that I am more than twice as old as Bilbo and that hobbits who are really, really lucky will get half as old as we do.”

Shaking his head, Dwalin asked, “So you are prepared to love somebody who will die nearly a hundred years ahead of you?”

Flinching when Dwalin called him on his feelings, Thorin looked at his friend angrily for a moment. But in the end he hung his head and kicked at a few stones that covered the ground. When he looked up he seemed resigned. “The circumstances would still be the same. Maybe it was a small concession of the thain to force someone upon us who would not take our ENTIRE life away from us.”

“But Bilbo isn’t taking anything from you. He is what you want and you will most likely spend more time without him than with him by your side. And you tell me you are alright with that?” Dwalin looked at his friend disbelievingly.

Growling angrily, Thorin looked at his guard. “Of course I am not alright with that. But it is not as if I could change anything about it. I am a dwarf, he is a hobbit. I can no more magically extend his life than I can cut mine short without forceful intervention. I can only hope and pray to Mahal that he will grace me with as many years with my husband at my side as possible.”

 

Looking up at the night sky, Dwalin thought for a long time, about his friend, about the hobbit, and even about his beloved’s children. Life was unfair and cruel. Thorin had finally found someone for himself, someone who made him happy. Yet he was not even allowed to share the majority of his life with him. On the other hand, his treasured Dís hadn’t been given that opportunity either, when the Goblins of Moria had taken her husband from her. But, there was at least one thing Dwalin could do, to extend his friend’s happiness as much as possible.

Rising from his position to wake the next guard, Dwalin put his broad hand on Thorin’s shoulder. In a low voice he decided, “If you want to make the most of your time with your hobbit, you should make sure that he can deal with everything that is dished out to him. We will take care of the dwarrows of the Blue Mountains when we get there. But for now we can start with weapons training. He should be able to defend himself. Everybody would expect that from your future consort.”

Nodding in agreement, because that REALLY was a wise course of action, Thorin took his friend’s neck and brought their foreheads together. In a low voice he stated, “Thank you for your concern. Even if it doesn’t always look like it, I really appreciate it, my friend.”

With a slight smile Dwalin bowed low at his future king as soon as Thorin had released him. “Forever at your service, my Lord and at that of your little hobbit.” With a wink, Dwalin left behind a smiling prince, sending the next guard to him. In a few minutes Thorin would wake his replacement and return to his and Bilbo’s bedroll.

 

At their resting place for the night, Thorin was a little surprised to find Bilbo with Kíli splayed out on his chest and Fíli behind his younger brother. When he crouched down next to them, gently brushing away a strand of hair from his younger nephew’s face, Kíli looked up at him with sleepy eyes. In a whisper he explained, “Bilbo had nightmares, but they stopped when Fíli and I snuggled up with him. He’s really scared. What will we do, Uncle?”

Slowly stretching out on the other side of their hobbit, Thorin explained, “We will teach Bilbo how to defend himself. It may not be perfect, and maybe not even take his fears away, but he will be able to cope better when he is able to fight for himself and those around him. He’s with us now; he has to be able to protect his family. When he’s not so afraid anymore, maybe he will feel better.”

Nodding in understanding, while abandoning his place on the hobbit’s chest so that his uncle could take it, Kíli turned around and embraced his older brother. Sleepily he said, “If he’s so good at casting kitchen-knives, maybe he’s even better with proper throwing-knives. We should ask Nori about that. I know he’s really good with them.”

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

The next morning, with Fíli and Kíli seeing to breakfast, Thorin took it upon himself to give Bilbo his first weapons training. But it soon turned out that he was a little out of his depth with this. So with a knowing smile, Balin urged the prince to support his nephews, and asked the bewildered hobbit to join him on a walk. Obviously Bilbo had trouble getting what his fiancé had tried to achieve.

“You don’t really understand what Thorin expects from you, do you, Master Baggins?” Balin was friendly and slightly amused, if the twinkling in his eye was anything to go by.

Relieved that anybody got his feelings, Bilbo shook his head. “No, not at all. I mean I know that I blew it yesterday, that I have embarrassed myself beyond compare and Thorin alongside with me. But I don’t see how arms-training would make that any better?”

Raising his hands, Balin disagreed, “On the contrary, Master Baggins. You showed yourself exceptionally skilled yesterday. In the moment that counted, your aim was true and you protected our young prince. What happened afterwards isn’t important.”

“Then why …”

Sighing slightly, because Balin had never even thought about explaining the necessity of weapons training to anybody, the dwarf tried his best. “Bilbo, you will be our future royal consort, the partner of a king. You will have guards and people protecting you. You don’t have to learn to fight to defeat an army or ride to war – should that ever happen, you will be expected to stay behind to rule in Thorin’s place. But with the ability to defend yourself, and not only yourself but your family as well, comes a different state of mind. You will pick up confidence and self-assurance – traits that will be very important for a consort.

“Tell me, if you’d had no doubt whatsoever that you would be able to kill the wolf that was about to attack our young prince, would you have been as scared as you were?”

Thinking about Balin’s words, Bilbo looked at the knife he still carried on his belt. After a little while he shook his head. “Maybe not as much, but I still would have been scared. All I could see was Kíli being severely injured or even killed. It was like my worst nightmare all over again.”

Gently putting his hand on the hobbit’s shoulder, Balin concluded, “See, so that’s why Thorin wants you to fight. So that you can start feeling a little better when we come across a fight and not panic at the end of it. You would like that too, wouldn’t you? And it will calm him if he knows you are able to defend yourself. Thorin is royalty after all; his life will never be easy or free of any threats.”

Rubbing his hands over his trousers nervously, Bilbo nodded after a while. He didn’t like the thought of being royal in any way, of standing beside the king of the dwarven kingdom, and even less the idea of ruling in his husband’s absence. Thorin as a blacksmith would suit him far better, but sadly he didn’t have a choice. Thorin was the future king, and even when his rising to the throne was years, hopefully even decades away, Bilbo didn’t want to add to his burden by being the ‘damsel in distress’. Thorin needed him to be able to stand up for himself, and if he could even learn to have his future husband’s back, all the better for it.

Gratefully Bilbo bowed towards Balin. “Thank you, Master Balin. I understand now and I will do my very best to live up to his expectations. Just one request: Please don’t put a hammer like Dwalin’s in my hand. I would most likely break under it!”

Laughing and patting their hobbit on the back, the older dwarf assured him, “I am sure we will find something your size. You are quite good with knives as it seems. So we will search our armoury for one that will suit your needs.”

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 


	4. Arrival at the Blue Mountains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected confrontation with a surprising outcome.  
> Or: The king and the hobbit meet for the first time.

They were here!

Well not here, here, but close enough to arrive before sundown. Dís smiled joyously from her position on the highest watchtower, where she could watch over the whole plain that stretched out endlessly in west of the Blue Mountains. Even without a spyglass she could spot Dwalin, Bilbo and Thorin riding at the front of the group. Thorin because no other dwarf would ride up front, Dwalin because she recognized her love even from miles away, Bilbo because he was a faint red spot amidst all the greys, browns and blues of the travelling party.

“We’d better get ready.” The princess turned around and looked at her guard. Gloin mirrored her smile and just stepped aside, so that Dís could leave her lookout, following her to the kitchen, where Bombur and Dori had been working for the better part of the last two days. There still was a lot to do before they could welcome the future consort in the mountains properly, on the evening of the 22nd of September. A date NOBODY had mentioned before, but Dís had had spies, even amongst the hobbits, one of them being Bilbo’s grandmother, a woman she had parted from in friendship.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

Thráin was not nervous. Mostly because kings NEVER were nervous, no matter if they were about to face goblins, elves or bloody dragons, and surely not when they were about to meet a simple hobbit. Still, despite being definitely NOT nervous, the king paced his throne room in wide strides, there and back. Well at least the room they had prepared for official matters. This palace had been an abandoned part of the dwarven kingdom after all, never meant to host noble guests not to mention a king. The land was bleak around them, but beggars couldn’t be choosers and when the current sovereign of the Blue Mountains had allowed them this part of the land, Thorin had accepted it gratefully on his father's behalf. At that time the king had still been somewhat indisposed, following the trials and tribulations of their journey. It had taken him months to find his way back to his old self, even after they had found a suitable home for their people again. Not ideal but the best choice under the circumstances.

It had not been fit for colonization; the reason for it being abandoned in the first place quite obvious for those who inhabited it now. But with skill you could reroute water streams that wet your homes, repair and ignite fires in forges long forgotten and even secure parts of the mountain that had never been meant to be inhabited. They had closed off the parts they had found unstable. The only place they had had to admit defeat against, were the bleak lands surrounding their new home. Even the mines had turned out profitable, so they made their riches. But no matter how pretty, not even dwarrows could consume gold or jewels. The nature around them … there had been no way to claw from it what they most desperately needed. So Thráin had swallowed his last pride and asked for help, had even put his own family on the table for it.

Now he was about to face the creature that held their very fate within his hands, so there really was nothing ‘simple’ about this hobbit. It helped that Balin had sent letters where he had described the halfling as amiable and friendly. Even Nori’s reports had been encouraging and the spy usually only saw the worst in people. Thorin seemed … bewitched, there really was no other word for it. As were his grandsons and their mother.

He could even understand that his daughter was looking forward to seeing her sons again and that blasted guardian of her brother. Oh, what an argument that had been when Dís had revealed that giving up her chambers beside Thorin’s had not only been a practical decision, because Bilbo would most certainly WANT to live next to Thorin, but would also make it easier for her to attend to her lover unnoticed. Thráin had forbidden it, plain and outright, first as a father and then as a king. But he had not counted on the stubbornness of his daughter.

 

Dís had spat and shouted at him, their fight echoing through the entire royal wing. But in the end Dís had proven to be the clever one. “If you take away my happiness, you will lose my support. I love you, father, but I can’t allow you to do that. I will give you three days to think about this.” And after that she had made good on her threat. While her staff had always taken care of things, either under her supervision or that of her assistant, none of the dozen dwarrows who usually handled all of his paperwork and the organization of his social calendar had lifted a finger.

After two days the king had been utterly lost. So he had called upon her and had clarified, “No one will know about this! You will be secretive and if he utters a word about your arrangement or proves to be a threat to your fidelity I will throw him from the highest cliff. We already have more than our fair share of strange husbands in the family. First people will have to get used to a hobbit as consort. In two or three years we can worry about their opinion on a guard holding the heart of their princess.”

Dís had said nothing, only sketched a bow as a sign that she understood and agreed, then unfolded a piece of parchment with her king’s visitors for the day. They had stood side by side at Thráin’s desk when he placed his hand on his daughter’s back, tenderly caressing her locks that looked so much like her mothers.

He had but one question. “Does he make you happy?”

Looking up at her father, Dís simply revealed, “More than anything in all Middle-earth.”

Accepting his daughter’s decision, because he really hadn’t had a choice in the first place, Thráin kissed her lovingly on the forehead. When Dís sank into his arms, hugging him closely, he enveloped her and pulled her into his chest. Realizing for the first time how very much his daughter was a mirror image of her mother, remembering his beloved with a twinge of pain in his chest, Thráin only hoped that Dwalin, son of Fundin, knew how lucky he was. But from the look in his daughter’s eyes whenever she talked about him, he was sure about it.

 

The king squared his shoulders and returned to his throne, when a knock on the door indicated that his son had arrived. With resolve and all the majesty of bearing he could muster he bade them to enter. He watched closely how his son walked over to him, a small, golden-haired male by his side. Obviously they had allowed themselves a brief rest period after their arrival because they all were clean and wore fresh clothes.

As it was suitable for royalty, Thorin wore the signature colours of the house of Durin: deep blue and silver. When he bowed to his father, Thráin stepped up to him and touched their foreheads before gesturing his son to return his place right beside his throne. He briefly patted Fíli and Kíli’s shoulders, relieved beyond compare that his grandsons indeed were happy and not indebted to a hobbit for the rest of their lives. On his signal they stepped to the throne and placed themselves at the left side of it, Fíli beside it, Kíli next to his brother.

That left the small hobbit, dwarfed – no pun intended there – by the sons of Fundin. With a hint of a nod towards his Councillor and his daughter’s chosen, Thráin finally concentrated on the hobbit. After a respectful bow – that was usually reserved for fellow kings and important allies, he spoke his greetings. “Bilbo, son of Bungo, son of Gerontius, Halfling of the Shire. I want to …”

Surprisingly, he was interrupted by a discreet cough from the male before him. Looking at the small creature, wondering whether it had taken ill as a result of the exertions of the travel, he took in its rigid posture for the first time. The royal blue coat he wore mirrored Thorin’s colours. The cream dress-shirt underneath seemed to shine all by itself, accentuated by the deep blue waistcoat the hobbit had chosen for their first meeting. The ensemble was completed by light beige trousers that ended at his calves, revealing oversized feet that were covered with carefully brushed hair. Had Bilbo fidgeted slightly before, he now stood his ground and looked into the eyes of the king with quiet determination.

In a strong and yet respectful voice he requested, after a deep bow, “Your Majesty. I would be very grateful if you could spare me a minute, free of prying eyes.”

“Master Baggins, that might not …” Balin had already stepped closer to the hobbit, putting a hand on his shoulder, trying to advise him. But Thráin cut him short by raising his hand. That promised to be an interesting encounter; the hobbit had showed himself respectful, even when he had to know about his position in the mountain. Because although Thráin was still king, without the halflings’ help there would soon be no kingdom for him to rule.

So the king ordered, “Leave us!”

Fíli and Kíli started to protest, yet their mother, who had entered the room from the side, just nudged them gently to leave after throwing a longing look towards Dwalin who had remained unmoving first behind his prince and then behind the hobbit. After a few moments, the room was empty apart from Bilbo, Thráin and Thorin.

The prince had abandoned his place beside the throne and now stood in front of Bilbo, beseeching him. “Bilbo, please, can’t this wait until …”

Thráin was fascinated to see that a small hand on his son’s chest stopped Thorin in his tracks. Stepping back to allow the pair a little privacy he only heard a hint of what his son’s fiancé was saying. “This is inevitable, Thorin, and you know it. I want to have it over sooner rather than later, to concentrate on what’s important.”

Watchful of this encounter, Thráin noticed that Thorin merely lowered his head in defeat and nodded affirmatively. Interesting! The little creature had not ordered, not threatened, his voice had been barely above whisper and unbelievably kind, yet – despite being clearly unhappy with the situation – his son caved in to the halfling’s wishes as if his king had voiced them and stepped aside.

Thráin nodded towards the door and ordered, “You can leave too, Thorin.” His son, however, shook his head and stepped around Bilbo, positioning himself behind the hobbit’s left shoulder. “I will stay.”

Raising his eyebrows, the king looked down at the halfling. It had been his request to talk unattended. Yet with a sigh Bilbo squared his shoulders. Obviously agreeable to his son’s presence, the older dwarf returned to the matter at hand. “Now, what did you want to discuss with me, halfling?”

Taking a deep breath, putting his hands behind his back, the small male took a step forward, looking up at the taller dwarf with purpose. Calmly yet empathically, he declared, “Let me make one thing perfectly clear, Your Majesty. You are not my king, not yet. Still, I have come here, to ensure the survival of your people. I have gone to any length during the summer, to gather as much food and seed as possible. Your Councillor will confirm this for you if you doubt my words.

“I have offered my hand in marriage to your son, because you and my grandfather had decided, that this was the price to be paid for the help of the Shire. **And for all that I will NOT be insulted by you at every turn!** I am not half of ANYTHING!  
 **I** am Bilbo Baggins, a respectable hobbit of the Shire. And I would be grateful if you would address me as such!”

Listening to this passionate speech without any outward emotion, Thráin looked from the heavily breathing hobbit to his son, who had yet to abandon his position behind his future husband. A very interesting development indeed. The dwarf had thought these halflings … no, _hobbits_ to be plush, soft and weak. Yet the fire in Bilbo’s warm brown eyes mirrored that of the forge at the heart of their mountain. If they could find a way to work together, Thráin had not the slightest doubt that this Bilbo Baggins would be up to any challenge he would face by his son’s side.

Thinking of his heir, trailing his eyes from the hobbit back to the dwarf by his side, Thráin asked, “Is there anything you would like to say, Thorin?”

In the mind of the dwarven king there were two possible outcomes:

One, his heir would take his rightful side beside his king, berating Bilbo for his rudeness and speaking out of line.

Second, his son would step around the hobbit, protecting him from whatever wrath Bilbo had brought upon himself with his insolent speech.

Yet Thorin amazed him by choosing option number tree, placing his hands on the hobbit’s shoulders in silent support and meeting his father’s eyes. His voice was calm, but Thráin thought that he could detect the tiniest hint of pride in it when he said, “No, father. I guess Bilbo has covered it sufficiently.”

 

The future king was expected to choose his people over everybody else. But a good husband should always choose his spouse over anybody else. Thorin had proven himself a good heir by willingly going to the Shire, prepared to be chosen for a lifetime of servitude. Yet with Bilbo by his side, he sided with his future husband over his king. Something that might prove difficult for Thráin later on, but for Bilbo it was definitely the desirable outcome.

The king noticed that the hobbit leaned marginally into Thorin’s touch, obviously relieved that his fiancé had backed him up before his father. Deciding to spare them any further strain, the king allowed himself a smile and nodded towards Bilbo. “I am very sorry that I have offended you, Bilbo Baggins, hobbit of the Shire. I can see very clearly that you are more than able to stand your ground, so all I can say is be welcome to our family and into our home. If there is anything I can do for you, don’t hesitate to ask.”

Looking completely baffled for a moment by the warm welcome after his outburst, Bilbo’s face morphed into the most radiant smile. For the first time Thráin could see why his son seemed bewitched by the small creature. When Bilbo smiled, with his golden locks and sparkling eyes he truly looked like the sun, radiating warmth and happiness, and the king couldn’t help but mirror the honest reaction.

As he had done it with his grandsons, he touched the hobbit’s shoulder briefly, before gesturing towards the exit, inviting him, “I am sure you would like to have dinner and a quiet evening. Regrettably I think that is not possible today. From what I have heard from my daughter, there are quite a few dwarrows who can’t wait to see you again.”

If possible, Bilbo’s smile got even wider, and instantly he started to vibrate with supressed energy. “Are Bifur, Bombur and Bofur around? And Gloin will be with Dís, won’t he? And Oin, he should be in the infirmary, shouldn’t he? And Dori, and Nori, and Ori …”

The king could only laugh out loud when the little hobbit was clinging onto his son’s shirt, excitedly counting his friends he was clearly anxious to see again. On an afterthought Thráin added, “Oh and Master Baggins, I really appreciate your discretion.” This interaction might have ended very differently, had Thráin found himself in the position of defending his choice of words in front of others. Yet the hobbit had shown himself considerate, and that bode well for his future among his council.

Letting go of his fiancé’s coat, Bilbo turned around one last time, clarifying in a very, very solemn voice, “Your Majesty, this is my family now, and by extension, so are you. I will always, always do my very best to support you, to the full extent of my abilities. I am even aware that I will fall under your jurisdiction, once Thorin and I are legally wed. Yet I won’t shut up or keep my beliefs to myself when I think something is going wrong. I will never contradict you in public, nor share my thoughts when not asked about them. But when we are among us, only family and no one else, I reserve the right to be rude and impulsive, honest in my opinion as well as blunt to a fault.”

With an unbelieving smile on his lips the king asked, “And have such events happened around your new family?”

“Occasionally …” Bilbo admitted, looking at his large feet, shuffling a little nervously.

“Well,” decided the king, “I guess we will deal with that when the situation arises.”

Realizing that his son was comforting his future husband, Thráin chose to elaborate. “You ARE part of the family now, Bilbo Baggins. My grandsons, my daughter, even those who merely lived under your roof for a few short weeks, speak of you with praise. The service you have rendered to the dwarrows of this kingdom will ensure that we all hold you in the highest regard.

“Still, as you might have found out already, we are not a calm and composed family, but we ARE the rulers of our people. They have to have faith in us no matter what, and your simple request to speak with me without an audience proves that you realize that we have to present a united front. You have done well so far, now stop worrying, Bilbo Baggins. Allow my son to guide you to the dining hall and enjoy an evening with your friends.”

Nudging his son out of the room and by extension the hobbit, Thráin used the few short moments until his guards, advisors and maybe council members would return to him, and sat down on his throne, closing his eyes. Calm, composed, levelheaded, not arrogant, cruel and definitely not presumptuous; Bilbo had proven himself much friendlier than the thain with whom Thráin had conversed. It had surprised him a little, to hear that he was Bilbo’s grandfather. Luckily they had gotten the best hobbit from that family. Yes … Bilbo Baggins would be a valuable addition to his kingdom, and not only because he was the only one who could save his people from a cruel and painful death by starvation.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

Shaking slightly from nerves, Bilbo dared to look up at his fiancé, who guided him through the corridors of his new home. “That went well, don’t you think?” Quite honestly, the hobbit was still a little frazzled by his boldness. But when the king had started to insult him by calling him ‘halfling’ he had decided that he had to put his foot down, right from the beginning.

He had been aware how much his audacity had pained his fiancé, but Bilbo was a respectable Baggins of Bag … of the Shire, and he would NOT be insulted in his new home, by his future king. It could have gone wrong, horribly wrong, and Bilbo honestly had no idea what he would have done if the king had been angry with him for speaking out of line.

Luckily Thorin’s father had seemed amenable to Bilbo’s opinion, and the conversation they’d had afterwards made Bilbo hopeful that he would not be a ridiculed and belittled hobbit in a kingdom full of dwarrows. He wanted to be somebody who was viewed as his own person, with his own opinion, respected just like anybody else. Little did he still understand his position in the dwarven kingdom; otherwise he would not have worried so much.

Thorin, truly relieved that his father had shown so much leniency towards his fiancé – because, honestly, as a king he could expect to be treated with humble respect and not to be snapped at for his choice of words – also smiled with relief. He had been proud to present Bilbo in his finest clothes and with all his respectability showing. Yet when his father had asked his opinion after Bilbo had spoken his mind, he had felt torn.

On the one hand he had felt the need to stand beside his father like he had always done. THAT was his rightful place, the position he had been trained for ever since he was a dwarfling. Yet, stepping away from Bilbo had been completely out of the question for him. In that very moment he had realized that his loyalties had shifted. Thorin still was willing to do EVERYTHING for his people, everything but giving up his hobbit, even if it was only for the sake of an argument.

Luckily his father had obviously understood this, and had not given Thorin any grief about it. For the first time in his life, Thorin had felt the desire to hug his father and hold on to him to show him how grateful he was for his acceptance of his son’s new position. Bilbo really had taught him to enjoy the simple pleasures of life, like hugs from family for example. But he had simply bowed low to his father and king, and followed his advice to get his hobbit fed.

 

Wandering through the corridors Thorin asked himself if they had always been so dark and overwhelmingly high. Before their time in the Shire, he had never given these surroundings much thought. But having been housed in a hobbit-home for several months, made him compare the cosy nest-like quality of Bag End with the rich vastness of the Blue Mountains. Strangely the Mountains didn’t come out on top. Shaking his head to chase away the thought, Thorin opened the door to the large dining hall to allow Bilbo to get some supper.

Both were completely taken aback when they found the hall filled not only with their friends and family – at least Dís and Fíli and Kíli – but the whole room decorated with candles and colourful napkins. Cakes stood on every table and all available surfaces were overflowing with heaps of food that lay there. The most amazing banner – written in clear and elegant Westron that spoke of Ori’s hand – hung over the longest table in the room.

All of his friends shouted as one, “SURPRISE” when Bilbo and Thorin entered; and the banner read:

 

 

* * *

# 

Happy Birthday Bilbo!

* * *

 

 

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 


	5. Gifts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What kind of birthday would it be if there were no presents?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After having a truly enjoyable evening with my husband, I will swiftly post the next chapter before dashing off to bed. Have a great evening/night/day :)

“But I am … I don’t … I can’t celebrate my birthday! I have nothing to give away!” Bilbo stammered, completely overwhelmed by the welcome he was given.

Instantly Dís went to her future brother in law and hugged him tightly, whispering in his ear, “Of course you do, what kind of birthday would it be if there were no presents?”

Amazed by Dís’s thoughtfulness, because he could now see the countless little packages neatly stacked up on a table next to the buffet, Bilbo returned the princess’s hug fiercely and touched their foreheads. “Thank you, Dís, this is … thank you so much!” But soon Bofur dragged him out of Dís’s arms and pulled him to his chest. Then came Bifur, who congratulated him, at least Bilbo hoped so, because he simply answered the dwarf’s speech with a “Thanks”, and after Bifur came his cousin Bombur.

The chef was the first one to tell him how he and Dori had set everything up in the kitchen preparing for their welcome, and when Dori pulled him out of Bombur’s arms to hug the hobbit himself, he continued explaining about the divine food they had prepared for all of Bilbo’s guests, minutely following the hobbit’s recipes. After Dori came Ori, who hugged Bilbo a little shyly, but the hobbit would have none of that and pulled the young dwarf in, telling him how much he loved the banner.

Nori stood beside his brother and after a moment’s hesitation, even the usually so reserved dwarf hugged Bilbo and wished him a happy birthday. Oin pulled Bilbo to his chest after that, and the hobbit had to smile after sneezing because the healer of the Blue Mountains smelled like healing herbs and peppermint tea. The old dwarf was succeeded by his younger brother Gloin and finally, in the end came Fíli and Kíli.

Of course his boys complained endlessly that Bilbo hadn’t told them about his birthday and therefore couldn’t expect a present. But the hobbit calmed them by explaining that as the birthday boy, HE was supposed to give presents away. That, of course, lifted their moods and brought them out of their defensive stance. Immediately they scrambled off to shake the little bundles that lay stacked at the side.

When Bilbo’s dwarrows had congratulated their hobbit, he was introduced to their families, the closer and even the extended ones. Gloin presented his wife and Bilbo couldn’t find enough compliments for the beautiful lady-dwarf. Gloin was definitely a lucky male. After congratulating the hobbit on his brother’s heels, Balin introduced Bilbo to several members of the court who hadn’t been able to tame their curiosity to see the hobbit on his very first evening in the mountain. Immediately Bilbo invited them to his party, and in the end everybody in the dining-hall was called upon to join the party.

There was laughing and dancing, drinking and singing and Bilbo thought that this could only be better if the party was held out in the open. But the land around the mountain hadn’t looked green and fertile as Bilbo had imagined, so maybe it was better that they were in the confines of the Mountain.

When a few dwarrows produced their instruments, Bilbo pulled Thorin to a hastily cleared dance-floor in the middle of the room. Fíli and Kíli took it upon themselves to introduce two lady-dwarrows of the guard to the art of dancing like hobbits. After watching with keen interest how much fun all of their royals seemed to have – because of course Dís had used the occasion to pull Dwalin to the dance-floor – the other guests hesitantly joined the dancers.

For many hours they had fun and laughed and every member of the company had to share an experience from their time in the Shire with the other guests. Bombur, of course, had admired the food. Dori spoke about the beautiful and colourful dresses of the hobbit lads and ladies and Bifur and Bofur told stories about the hobbit children they had been allowed to babysit. When Fíli and Kíli captivated their audience explaining how they had taken care of two babies, something many dwarrows had a hard time believing, Thorin started to look for Bilbo.

The hobbit had taken the chance to dash into a corner, opening one of his gift-sachets to find out what he was giving away for his birthday. He grinned up at his fiancé when the colourful wrapping revealed a cupcake with the most beautiful icing in the form of a flower and a big cookie. Grinning and tapping the icing that seemed to be made of pure sugar, because it really held even when it was squeezed a little by the package, the hobbit asked, “Cupcake or cookie, which one do you want?”

“The cookie,” was Thorin’s confused answer, before asking his future husband, “Should we be eating these? I thought they were for the guests?”

Grinning, Bilbo bit into his cupcake and moaned because it really tasted perfect. After swallowing the hobbit defended his actions. “Well, it is a present and you are a guest. You would have shared it with me anyway, wouldn’t you?” Shaking his head, clearly amused by his hobbit’s words, but unable to confute them, Thorin guided Bilbo to one of the tables at the side.

 

This was his fiancé’s birthday after all, and Thorin had felt uneasy being without a present for his lover. Regrettably he had not known about the event in advance, nor had he had time during their journey to prepare a suitable gift for Bilbo. So here he was, offering something that had been pushed into his hand by his sister only minutes ago. He WANTED Bilbo to wear this, yet he was unsure if the hobbit would like it.

“Bilbo, I …” This was harder than he had thought. But when his hobbit looked at him, just looked at him with so much patience and kindness, smiling because he realized that what Thorin was about to say was really important to him, Thorin found his confidence again. “I want to give you something for your birthday.”

Raising his hand before his lover could protest that he was the one giving gifts and not receiving them, Thorin clarified, “That’s what dwarrows do, we give the birthday child presents, so please indulge me.” When Bilbo settled with a small smile, the dwarf opened his hand and offered a tiny package to his fiancé. The hobbit opened it carefully to see that it contained two clasps of pure gold. Instantly Bilbo started to shake his head and tried to give them back.

“No … no, Thorin, you can’t give me these. They are pure gold, that’s far, far too valuable for me. Please, take them back, they are …” Bilbo babbled, clearly nervous about holding something so valuable, looking anxiously from Thorin to the gold beads and back again.

Yet all Thorin did was smile, when he saw Dís, sitting down on Bilbo’s other side. Gently and caringly she explained, “These were made by Thrór for his daughter-in-law, given to her the day he welcomed her to the family. I wore these clasps the day Smaug attacked Erebor. They were by far not the most precious beads my mother had owned, just plain day-to-day wear.”

Blanching Bilbo looked from Dís to Thorin with wide eyes. Shaking his head stubbornly, he closed the wrapping around the beads to keep them safe, and tried once again to give them back. Whispering barely audible he decided, “You can’t give me these, Thorin. They belong to your family. I can’t wear something so valuable. And it’s not about the gold any longer. It’s … they were your mother’s! How can you even think of giving them away?”

Dís saw the carefully concealed pain in her brother’s eyes when his fiancé rejected the gift. So she decided to speak on his behalf, because clearly Thorin wasn’t able to explain how very suitable these clasps were for Bilbo. Touching the hobbit’s shoulder gently she emphasized kindly, “Our grandfather made them for our mother, to give them to her the day our father brought her into the family. They are covered in the intricate designs of the Line of Durin, used for many centuries. It contains the name of our father and forefather, as well as the rune that decorates your beads. So tell me, Bilbo, who would be more suitable to wear these clasps than my brother’s future husband?”

Looking at his fiancé with awe, Bilbo asked in a low voice, “Is that why you want me to have them? Because they mean that I am part of your family now?”

Gently touching his hobbit’s face, bringing their foreheads together, so that they could share a breath even if they were not kissing, Thorin whispered, “There is no more appropriate present I could give to you on your first birthday in our Mountains. I would be honoured if you wore them, Bilbo.”

“Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you, …” the hobbit practically climbed on Thorin’s lap when he hugged his fiancé, the hand with the golden beads safely hidden between their bodies. When Bilbo pulled back and kissed his future husband ever so lovingly, he noticed another dwarf, with salt and pepper hair – clad in a simple blue tunic with dark trousers, the colours of the Durin clan – beside them.

Instantly he tried to hide the hand with the beads, as if suddenly afraid that the dwarf would take them from him. Thorin on the other hand, shared a happy look with his sister at his fiancé’s change of heart, nodding gratefully into her direction, ignoring the newcomer for a moment.

 

When the dwarf rumbled in a warm voice, “Have you given him his present already?” the hobbit realized from the sound of his voice and his bearing that he was looking at the king of the mountain, appearing so different from the formerly regal person he had met in the throne room.

When both of his children nodded, the hobbit reluctantly opened his hand and revealed the beads. In a shy voice she stated, “They have, Your Majesty. But I would understand it if you didn’t want me to wear them. They belonged to your wife and I am no dwarf after all.”

Shaking his head with a kind smile, Thráin decided, “Nonsense. You are a member of this family now, and everybody should see that. You wearing my wife’s beads is the perfect way to convey this message. And after everything I have learned about you so far, I dare to say that she would have liked you having them.”

Blushing slightly – alright, a lot –, Bilbo lowered his head and mumbled a silent, “Thank you”.

Here he was. Surrounded by the members of the royal family, and being presented with beads that might be worth more than everything he had brought with him so far. But the value of the metal wasn’t important any more. In fact the beads were truly priceless, because they had belonged to Dís and Thorin’s mother in the first place. When Thráin only nodded encouragingly, Bilbo handed the clasps to Thorin and asked, “Could you fasten them in?”

With the most joyous smile, Thorin nodded and took the golden beads from his hobbit’s hands and redid both braids to finish them off with the new clasps. Putting the flowery clasp away, Thorin kept the one where he had engraved the signs of Durin and Bilbo Baggins between the fire and the grapes, for himself. While he was braiding Bilbo’s hair with skilled fingers, his father touched Thorin’s braids carefully, inspecting the unusual clasps he wore.

If the king noticed that something was off with Thorin’s hair, for example that the braids were woven tightly around a strand of cut off hair, he didn’t mention it, and his son relaxed considerably, the longer his father remained silent.

When he was finished, Bilbo touched the new clasps nervously. Once again he looked up to Thráin, asking in an uncertain voice, “Are you sure that this is alright?”

Smiling down at his children and his future son-in-law, the king decided, “Yes, it is. In fact it couldn’t be more perfect.”

Beaming in relief, Bilbo grabbed two little satchels from the table beside them and rose to offer one to the king. “In the Shire it’s a tradition that the one who celebrates his birthday offers gifts to all his guests. Luckily your daughter (as Bilbo had learned from Gloin) as well as Bombur and Dori had made sure that I have something to give away. It’s really only a small thing, but I would be honoured if you would take it.”

With a smile and a courteous bow, Thráin accepted the package and immediately opened it. Astounded, he produced another blue cupcake and a chocolate cookie. Grinning, he bit into the cookie and closed his eyes in bliss. “These are incredible, Master Baggins. Thank you very much, this gift is much appreciated.” With these words he left his children to their own devices, digging into the sweets, enjoying them in private.

With a smile Bilbo offered Dís a yellow satchel and the dwarven lady revealed a yellow cupcake and a cookie with nut pieces in it. She grinned and bit into it, slapping her brother’s fingers away when he tried to reach for the cupcake. “Hands off. You have your own.”

Grinning because of the playful mood, Bilbo said, “Nope, we already ate his. So he really doesn’t.”

“Touch luck,” was Dís only comment, and afterwards she left them, to join Dwalin by the dance floor, where he cheered for Fíli and Kíli, as the two boys, assisted by Bofur and Bifur, tried to teach several dwarrows how to dance in a circle.

“Thorin?” Bilbo’s voice was so low that Thorin surely wouldn’t have heard it, had he not been sitting right beside his fiancé.

“Yes, Bilbo?”

“Thank you … for giving me your mother’s beads.”

Smiling at his fiancé tenderly, Thorin put his arm around Bilbo and buried his face in his hair. He deeply inhaled the earthy, lavender, sunshine scent of his fiancé, before whispering, “Thank you for wearing them.” He pulled Bilbo to his feet, so they could join the circle of dancers. Surely a light-footed hobbit would help his nephews’ lessons a great deal.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

When they returned to their chambers that night, both Thorin and Bilbo were in high spirits. Dís accompanied them, planning to show the hobbit where he was about to live while in the Blue Mountains. Fíli and Kíli tagged along, just because they could, and of course because they were really curious to find out if their hobbit would like his new accommodations.

When Dís opened the doors to her former quarters, Thorin looked at his sister in astonishment. Yet the princess only shrugged and explained, “We have lived in these rooms side by side ever since we came here, but only because it’s easier with the bathroom between these two chambers. Now, I guess both Bilbo and you would prefer adjoined rooms instead of crossing the corridor each time you want to speak.”

Opening the door, she showed Bilbo a very nice bedroom with an open fireplace and a spacious bed that was covered with furs. The walls were generally concealed by tapestry to conserve the warmth and the hobbit had to admit that the blazing fire in the fireplace illuminated the colourful decorations on the walls quite well. Two arches opened into other rooms. Dís ignited a candlestick to show the hobbit around.

The door to the left led to a nice salon with a comfortable sitting area and a quite spacious desk on one side. In a far corner Bilbo’s boxes were stored already. Someone had taken it upon himself to carry the hobbit’s stuff up to his intended rooms. As in the bedroom, tapestries covered many parts of the walls around him. Where the stone was not hidden, Bilbo realized that it was slightly shimmering, not from precious metals, but from something else. It seemed as if the walls were laced with some kind of quartz crystals. It all gave the room a very nice, friendly touch, just because the light was not entirely swallowed by the dark stone.

The second doorway led from the bedroom into a bathing chamber. There was a second door mirroring the first, leading presumably to Thorin’s apartment. Bilbo was completely taken aback by the big tub that sat on its far side. Several pipes ran along the ceiling, offering hot water as Dís showed him. The tub had a lever for the drain, to release the stored water. Not far from it sat the facilities, hidden behind a heavy curtain. Two spacious basins on one side worked with the same system. Water came through the pipes and a lever would drain them. What fascinated Bilbo most was a generous sofa that sat on the small side of the room. Thorin explained that this was meant for relaxing before or after taking a bath, but that he and Dís had mostly used it to store their towels and change of clothes. Bilbo could only laugh at Thorin’s dry comment about such a luxurious piece of furniture.

They made their way to Thorin’s room. For the first time since arriving in the mountains, Bilbo got the impression that a room was really lived in instead of merely being used, like the throne room or the dining hall. Books and parchments covered a vast desk that sat in the middle of the room. A sofa and a small table in front of the big fireplace looked mostly abandoned, the table only held decorative items like a cup and a pot, both clearly not in use.

The bed was as big as Bilbo’s, but the dimensions of the room in general surpassed that of Bilbo’s bedroom. When he asked about it, he was told that there was no second room attached to it, unlike Bilbo’s. When the children of Thráin had come here, they had decided that Thorin would get the big bedroom and Dís the two-room apartment, because the princess really didn’t fancy seeing her work when going to bed.

They all left Thorin’s room, exiting into the corridor again. Fíli and Kíli explained that their rooms mostly mirrored those of her mother’s and uncle’s … now Bilbo’s and uncle’s. Bilbo smiled, because he suspected that they rarely used both beds at night if their sleeping habits in the Shire were anything to go by. When Dís bade them good night, all males watched her entering a room at the end of the corridor, a little way down from theirs.

Bidding his sister and his nephews a good night, Thorin returned to his room, only to hear the door being closed behind him, while Bilbo had apparently remained in the corridor.

Looking around, Bilbo took a deep breath. This was definitely not Bag End. Everything was too big, too pompous and definitely not homey enough, though Thorin’s room looked alright. Trailing along the corridor to his own rooms, he admired the door and touched the beautiful wood it was made of, minding of the excellent craftsmanship and the intricate designs that covered it’s surface. _Everything_ was beautiful yet so very different from Hobbiton that it didn’t feel like home.

When he saw a tall figure approaching Dís’s bedroom, Bilbo said, “Good night, Dwalin.” He couldn’t supress a snicker when he heard a grumpy “Good Night, Master Baggins” in return.

After a “Good Night, boys” he heard another door closing. Shaking his head he entered his own bedroom again. Maybe it wouldn’t be _that_ different.

Freeing himself from his best coat and rich waistcoat, Bilbo padded into the salon … HIS salon and took a brief look at his things. He still had his backpack that held a second set of clothes, but it would be a relief to wear something that was not wrinkled or had been worn for a whole week on the road. Carefully he pulled out some of his clothes, before starting his evening routine.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

Thorin felt unexplainably sad when Bilbo closed the door behind himself. He was home again, finally! They had food, he had brought a fiancé to the Blue Mountains and Bilbo had made it clear that he didn’t think this a temporary arrangement. Yet when the prince undressed and looked at his big bed, he suddenly felt lonely and out of place.

This was the closest thing to a home that he had had since Erebor, but it couldn’t rival the small and cosy smial where he had spent the summer. Everything here was of good quality, even better than at Bag End, fit for a future king that was for sure. But all of a sudden all that Thorin wanted was to be back in the Shire, sitting in front of the fireplace in Bilbo’s living room, sure that he was allowed to share the hobbit’s bed later on. Here he was where he belonged, yet utterly alone, and he didn’t like it.

He had relieved himself of everything but his smallclothes, aware that tomorrow he would have his vast wardrobe at his disposal again. He added some fuel to the fire and looked into the flames, poking them thoughtfully. It was warm here, warmer than in Bilbo’s smial; then why did he feel so cold all of a sudden? Looking around, Thorin saw no indication that his time in the Shire had really happened; only when he closed his fists around his beads, did he feel the uncharacteristically light wood imprint itself into his skin.

Bilbo was here, was with him. He just had to … maybe he could talk to him. Find out if the hobbit would be willing to allow Thorin into his bed, even though here in the Blue Mountains there were more than enough beds for everybody. He craved the contact with his lover and not only because he longed for him. Of course he did, they hadn’t had a moment of privacy ever since starting their journey, but for now Thorin would content himself with the prospect that maybe after the wedding they could …

 

His thoughts were interrupted by a low yawn behind him. When he rose from his knees, turning around form his fireplace, he saw Bilbo in his colourful dressing gown, entering his chambers from the bathroom. He was clean and all of his hair was groomed, but he looked to be falling asleep on the spot. Instantly worried that there might be a problem with his fiancé’s accommodation (Thorin so wanted Bilbo to like it here in the Blue Mountains) he walked over and asked worriedly, “Is something wrong, Bilbo? Do you need anything?”

But the hobbit only shook his head sleepily, shed his dressing grown and put his scale necklace on Thorin’s bedside table, before climbing into Thorin’s bed, clad only in his smallclothes. When Thorin stood, frozen on the spot, Bilbo opened his tired eyes again and looked at his fiancé. “Is something wrong? Are you coming? If there is anything the matter we will discuss is tomorrow, I promise. But for tonight all I want is a few hours of undisturbed sleep, without stones in my back or birdsong in my ear around sun rise.”

Releasing a huge breath he hadn’t even known he had been holding, Thorin shook his head wordlessly and crawled into his bed. Tentatively closing his arms around his hobbit, inhaling his earth and lavender and sunshine smell, the dwarf breathed, “No, everything is perfect,” before laying his head in its rightful place on the hobbit’s chest.

When he felt Bilbo’s fingers trailing thorough his hair calmingly, Thorin felt the burden and the tension of the day slowly seep out of him. His hobbit asked tenderly, “This is alright, isn’t it? Me being here I mean.”

Reaching for Bilbo’s wrist, he placed a tender kiss on the skin. Rumbling deeply, Thorin decided, “We are engaged. If anybody doesn’t like us being together, it’s their problem, not ours.” After a while he added, “Thank you, for coming here.”

Bilbo just laughed silently, something Thorin only noticed because his chest shook, and kissed his fiancés head. “I waited, you wouldn’t come, so I took matters into my own hand. Apart from that, I like your room. It feels lived in, it even smells like you. I feel comfortable here, and I want to be comfortable in my first night in the Blue Mountains.”

“I want you to be comfortable all the time, Bilbo,” Thorin assured him. Only to feel Bilbo’s fingers return to his head, scratching soothingly over his neck.

The hobbit murmured sleepily, “We will get there, lover. We will get there …”

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 


	6. The first day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Many things are different in the Blue Mountains.  
> But on this day, Bilbo is delighted by the things that remain the same, namely: sunshine, second breakfast with friends, a nasty hobbit (alright, he probably didn't enjoy this THAT much) and most of all a new family who want's him to be comfortable in his new home.

Something tickled Bilbo’s nose, but it was not hair because that would go away when the hobbit swatted at it. Reluctantly opening his eyes he saw something he had never dared to hope seeing when inside the Blue Mountains: a solid ray of sunshine was painting his lover’s shoulder a milky yellow. It was accompanied by a crisp breeze of refreshing morning air.

Holding up his hand to let the sunbeam dance over his palm, Bilbo realized that there were slits in the wall of Thorin’s bedchamber. Five long, narrow vents were carved into the side of the mountain. From what he could see from his position on the bed, they were slightly askew, so that nobody would notice them when looking at the mountain from the outside. Looking up he could see hooks embedded in the stone above them. He had seen that the wall-tapestries hung on such hooks but obviously Thorin didn’t like a tapestry beside his bed, covering the outlets.

Sunlight inside the mountain, who would have thought? Yes, they would get there. Bilbo could be content here if he was not constantly trapped in the dark. Maybe he could even find some mirrors to intensify the light and spread it all over his own room, assuming that they were built similarly. The hobbit dearly hoped so, because if he didn’t have to forgo his needs for air and sun, his new home held so much more appeal to him. Sure he was a creature who used to live under the hill, but there had been sunshine radiating through his smial each and every day.

They would get there. With a smile Bilbo turned away from the early morning light, in favour of bending his body around his fiancé. Thorin reacted on instinct by snuggling tighter into his hobbit, taking a deep breath without waking up. Pulling up their covers, so that none of them would freeze due to the fresh breeze, Bilbo closed his eyes and dozed off again. After more than a week on the road, he deserved a little lie-in!

 

Thorin was woken by an annoying knock on his door. When he grumpily bade the person to enter, Dori entered, in his usual rich velvet attire, carrying a tray with breakfast. This dwarf too had found his way back to his usual style, after returning from the casual clothes he had allowed himself in Hobbiton. Looking around, Dori decided to use the coffee table and after putting down the tray, he started to fuel the embers again, so that his prince would not have to rise to a cold room. Still sleepy, Thorin asked, “Where is Tamon?”

Arranging the breakfast and pouring tea, because he could hear Bilbo shifting in the bed behind their prince and the hobbit enjoyed an early cuppa in the morning, Dori informed him, “Lady Dís thought it best that I take up the duties of your manservant for the next few weeks. Though Tamon, son of Rimon and his family served your line for many years, he is kind of a traditionalist. He might be … confused by your and your fiancé’s current arrangement.”

“That is very thoughtful of Lady Dís. Thank you very much, Dori,” came the sleepy but polite reply from behind Thorin. When the dark-haired dwarf turned around, he saw his hobbit with tousled hair and sleepy eyes, smiling at the prospect of first breakfast.

Dori offered, “This is only tea and a few biscuits. I will wait for you in the dining hall in half an hour, to go over your schedules with you, if that would be acceptable, your highness, Master Baggins.”

The dwarf was about to leave when he heard a nervous breathing and shuffling on the hobbit’s part. Bilbo was usually very swift and determined, something must have set their hobbit off if he made nervous noises. Going over their encounter briefly, Dori turned around one last time. They were back in the mountains where everybody had his place and Bilbo was so much more than merely their host. That’s why the silver-haired dwarf had offered himself as manservant when their princess had voiced her concerns.

Wishing for Bilbo to be happy here, and not to worry about dwarfish traditions any more than he needed to, Dori turned back. Nobody had really thought that Bilbo and Thorin would give up their sleeping arrangement, only because there were enough beds available. So Dori smiled warmly at their little hobbit and added, “Welcome to the Blue Mountains, Bilbo. And by the way, great party.” With a wink that left the hobbit noticeably relieved, the dwarf bowed to his prince and left a smiling couple behind.

Things would be different here than they had been in the Shire. But if they all worked together, assuring Bilbo that despite his elevated position they were still his friends, everything would be alright in the end. He knocked on Dis’s door, and having been invited in, proceeded to inform the princess, paying no mind to a grumpy Dwalin about the arrangements for second breakfast for Bilbo and Thorin. Dís decided instantly that they would join them. She asked Dori to inform his family and the other former inhabitants of Bag End to come to the dining hall if possible, even though she suspected that if Gloin decided to come, he would be accompanied by his wife. Bilbo shouldn’t feel shunned by them just because they were not in the Shire any more.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

Second breakfast was quite relaxing. Like in Bag End, everybody had gathered around a long table when Bilbo and Thorin entered, and Bombur was serving them. Gloin attended with a beautiful lady-dwarf and a young boy by her side who seemed unable to sit still, nibbling on everything within reach. When all were served bacon and eggs, mushrooms and freshly baked bread, the chef of the Blue Mountains joined them and they were able to discuss their plans for today.

Bilbo learned a lot about his friends that morning. Thorin was – of course – the king’s heir with corresponding duties. Dís was her father’s assistant, when it came to organizing his duties. Nori was kind of the “dwarf of all jobs” helping wherever an additional set of hands was needed and Ori was in the middle of his apprenticeship to become the royal scribe. Dori covered the position of the majordomo whenever the occasion called for one. With his impeccable taste and single-minded determination to get everything work out according to plan, he was the perfect dwarf for the job.

Gloin of course was Dís’s bodyguard, just like Dwalin was Thorin’s. Whenever they were not needed they trained the young dwarrows or helped the guards.

Oin was one of the major healers of the Mountain, working in the infirmary. Bombur covered the position of the chef and his brother and cousin usually worked as miners. Not a very fancy job, and not where their heart was, but they were very good at it. If they said a tunnel would be rich, it was exploited, and when they decided that they were entering unstable territory, the mine was abandoned. Their sense of stone was unparalleled and their advice greatly valued.

Fíli and Kíli were the only ones without an area of responsibility. Their days usually contained lessons with Balin and several other dwarrows, after lunch there was weapons training and then … then there was nothing. Their life in the Blue Mountains seemed a lot more carefree than in the Shire, but somehow Bilbo thought that they didn’t look too happy about it.

 

After about an hour, the king entered the dining hall, returning his breakfast tray and talking briefly with Balin. Bidding Bilbo a friendly “Good morning,” he informed the hobbit that his two guards were expecting him at the front gate, so that he would be protected wherever he wanted to go. Additionally he would have someone at his disposal that knew the grounds and could help him find the way.

Bilbo could only shake his head at that, he was a simple hobbit. Why on Middle-earth should he need guards? “With all due respect, your majesty, I don’t need guards accompanying me! I wanted to inspect your fields today and I am sure there is a better use for your people than watching a hobbit digging through some earth.”

Sensing an upcoming conflict – contradicting the king publicly never was a good idea – Nori came to Bilbo’s rescue. “Maybe I could accompany Master Baggins. I have been in the Shire, learned the basics about cultivating and I certainly know my way around.” Immediately Fíli and Kíli saw their chance to escape a dull day and offered their help as well.

Narrowing his eyes, the king looked at Bilbo for a long moment, before agreeing with his Information Officer, and shooing his nephews off to their studies. Sharing a meaningful look with Nori, he bade his children, the hobbit and the rest of the company a good day and returned to his duties. Dís immediately followed, a small book in her hand, which held his majesties schedule. Bilbo had never met a person who was so busy day in and day out. Yet he was grateful that the king had consented to Nori being his sole guard. The hobbit would feel really strange if armed dwarrows would follow him all day.

 

Aware that now Bilbo was the one leaving, and he had to stay behind, Thorin touched his fiancé’s forehead with his own briefly and the hobbit stole a quick kiss, before sipping the rest of his tea, ready to follow Nori wherever he was leading.

When Nori led him to the stables Bilbo tried to protest, telling the dwarf that he really could just walk the distance, but Nori insisted on it not being proper for the future consort to tread through the mud. Giving in with a reluctant sigh, Bilbo mounted the pony he had ridden for the last week and gently scratched her between the ears, so that she wouldn’t feel bad about his protests to ride her.

Within a few moments, the dwarf and the hobbit were leaving the mountain and Nori showed Bilbo the vast fields the Blue Mountains used for growing their crops. “This is the closest, plain area, next to our accommodation. The water used in the mountain helps us to irrigate the soil and the earth looked pretty fertile from the beginning. We don’t know what we are doing wrong. But the harvest decreased year after year until two winters ago there was barely enough to make ends meet.” That they all were hoping that their hobbit could change that remained unspoken.

Bilbo took in the fields. They looked better than he had expected. There was plenty of water, spread by channels all over the vast fields. Yet something felt off, even when the hobbit couldn’t put a finger on it. The harvest was already over, so Bilbo had an unrestricted view of the earth. It was dark and seemed rich. There was no logical explanation why not enough food grew there.

He was pulled out of his musings when he saw two people gesturing angrily at the end of a field. Riding closer, Bilbo recognized Gentian and Dwalin, the latter towering over the little hobbit threateningly. Yet the hobbit remained insistent, shouting up at the tall dwarf, “I don’t care how long I will be here, I will NOT work in these fields! You abandoned me to these stupid dwarrows and all they did was demand labour from me. I will NOT do it any more, not on this soil!”

Bilbo was quite shocked see Gentian. His fellow hobbit looked pale and thin, as if he had been locked away and starved. No matter what this dreadful person had done, he didn’t deserve to be treated like a prisoner. Bilbo had promised his thain that he would look after Gentian and his current appearance didn’t bode well. If fact, he looked rather sick, rather than just malnourished.

When he approached the angry pair, Gentian immediately turned his anger towards him. “And what are you doing here, mister ‘consort of the future king’? Don’t act like you care about me all of a sudden and piss off!”

Realizing that he would not get a straight answer out of Gentian, Bilbo turned to Dwalin. With a frustrated huff the warrior explained, “We were about to prepare the fields for the seeding of the winter rye you brought for us. The others will be around shortly. But after a week out here the little bastard suddenly decided that he wouldn’t go out there anymore!”

Taking in the tired and pale face, Bilbo decided quickly, “Get him something to eat, he is starving, everybody can see that. You know we hobbits need more food than dwarrows. He is not here to be exploited, just to pay his rightful debt. And you,” turning towards the fellow hobbit, Bilbo closed in on him and jabbed his chest forcefully with his finger, “Don’t behave like you are the victim here. I realize that you are not well but this is not a holiday but a punishment. Now sod off and make yourself useful in the afternoon. Find some places suitable for new fields, if this area is not to your liking!”

Grumbling, Dwalin admitted defeat. Even he could see that the hobbit was not well and Bilbo’s words had only confirmed it. He had to have a word or two with the guard he had appointed to him in the first place. Even though he detested Gentian, starving him should not be part of the punishment. The dwarrows had suffered enough from it to know that they wouldn’t wish it even to their worst enemy.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

When the dwarrows came who tended to the fields, Bilbo tried not to get in their way. They worked methodically, preparing the soil for the next planting. They spread compost, cleaned the irrigation ditches and renewed boundaries between the fields. They were working carefully and methodically and the hobbit couldn’t help but admire their determination. They all knew that something was off with their harvest, yet they did the best they knew and could only pray to their god that next year would be better. Well, Bilbo intended to make it better.

He stayed out all day, only interrupting his inspections for a brief, but plentiful lunch, picking up a small package in the kitchen that would make up for missing elevenses and satisfy him at tea-time. He had to agree with Gentian that something felt wrong out there. The earth looked fertile and the fields were well tended. But something was not right. However, even after a whole day out here, Bilbo couldn’t put his finger on it.

 

Like every sensible hobbit, Bilbo was aware that growing things was more than just knowing the right place, the perfect lighting and the suitable seed. It was about feeling the earth, working with Yavanna and not against her, to harvest the treasures she was willing to offer. His own tomatoes were the best example of that. They were ripe and sweet and perfect when he plucked them, but their position in his garden was less than ideal. The light and the soil in his front garden was said to be better for such vegetables.

But after two unsuccessful years Bilbo had planted tomatoes in his back-garden. The earth was rich there too, but the sunlight was not perfect. Yet, within the first year he had been able to harvest small, but delicious fruits, and after tending to his plants, abandoning those at the front, he had decided that he would forget about the ‘perfect place’ and had just done what had felt right. Within five years his tomatoes had been as big as the ones he had planted at the front of his smial and far surpassed them in taste.

So, no matter how perfect a place looked, when it didn’t feel right for the hobbit, he wouldn’t plant anything there. Not if it was his choice. Regrettably he wasn’t sure whose choice it was, presumably the king’s. But how to explain that the well-tended fields of the Blue Mountains simply didn’t _feel_ right at all? What would the king say if the hobbit approached him with such information? Saying that he didn’t like their fields, without being able to back up his opinion with a logical explanation or a better place as an alternative?

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

When the sun was sinking, Bilbo dashed into the kitchen for a quick bite, before returning to his quarters. Yet when he entered, he felt like he was in the wrong room. There were open boxes stacked up in one corner. When Bilbo peeked into them, he found them to be empty. A voice from the salon caught Bilbo’s attention.

Fíli was shouting urgently, “Come on, Kee, he will be back any minute. We need to remove the boxes and …”

Only to be interrupted by his little brother, who was grinning at the hobbit after just entering the bedroom, “Too late!”

Kíli stood in the doorway, carrying Belladonna’s glory-box, and within a moment Fíli peeked over his shoulder. When Bilbo looked around, he found the place decorated with his belongings. A part of his books were stored in the single bookshelf that hung on the wall next to the bed. His favourite quilt covered it, giving it a colourful impression, instead of looking gloomy with all the dark furs.

His mother’s glory-box was carefully put down on the floor, right beside the door, the exact position where it had stood at Bag End. The coffee-table held several pipes and a box he knew to contain tobacco, and on the mantelpiece of the fireplace stood a glass jar with … were these cookies?

With a look of utter disbelief on his face, Bilbo passed by Fíli and Kíli and entered the salon. The wide suite held several slightly mismatching pillows and another quilt was draped over the sofa. The bookcase next to his desk contained a lot of his other books. And the polished wooden surface of the desk held numerous pieces of parchment, his quills and ink-bottles.

A rush at the door made Bilbo turn around, spotting Thorin who carried his mother’s ‘everyday’ tea-set on a silver platter, and Bilbo couldn’t help but chuckle when he realized that the pot contained a huge bouquet of wild flowers. Carefully balancing it, Thorin ordered without looking up, “Now be swift. Bilbo will return momentarily, Nori said that he had left him for a quick dash in the kitchen, so he will be up …”

“… a few moments ago.” Thorin nearly crashed the plate when Bilbo finished his sentence. Only Fíli’s swift reaction saved the pot from tumbling to the ground. Slightly embarrassed for getting caught, all Durins shuffled around nervously until Bilbo plucked the tray from Thorin’s hands and sat it on a small side-table, close to the door.

Enveloping his fiancé in a bone-crushing hug, Bilbo could only whisper, “Thank you”, even when Fíli and Kíli shoved their uncle away after mere moments to get the hugs they felt entitled to. Because – as they both explained with an important air – they had done the majority of the work, while their uncle had attended to his princely duties. He had only helped for the last half hour, so it was really not fair that he would get hugged first and probably longer, thank you very much!

Seeing all his things made Bilbo feel instantly much more at home than the day before. While he had been walking though the fields all day, desperate to find a logical explanation for his unease, he had given up the idea of unpacking his things any time soon. Yet his boys had beaten him to it and he really couldn’t thank them enough.

After being promised his eternal gratitude and – more importantly – a huge stack of cookies when he found time for baking, the young princes left Bilbo’s rooms. Still a little nervous, Thorin asked when he saw Bilbo touching his things reverently, “So I take it you like it? You are not angry with us for going through your things?”

When Bilbo turned towards his fiancé, his smile couldn’t be any brighter. Once again he stepped up to his favourite dwarf and put his arms around his waist, snuggling into his chest. “I love it. Thank you so very much. I knew that I couldn’t make time for unpacking today, yet the thought of living out of boxes definitely sat ill with me. Now – even if it’s not finished – it’s so much better than before. And we have the quilt back.”

With a mischievous smile, Bilbo separated himself from Thorin and entered his bedroom. Looking at the light tapestry that covered the wall behind his bed, Bilbo asked, “Do you think that there are outlets in my room too? I enjoyed being woken by sunlight.”

Nodding, Thorin explained, “Most of the royal chambers have these. The fresh air comes in through the fireplaces in the rooms inside of the mountains. But my room and Dís’s and even father’s, have these slits. Usually we just don’t fancy the early morning light to wake us, so we cover them.” While telling this, Thorin carefully lifted the cloth that hung over Bilbo’s bed and revealed vents, similar to those in his room.

Clearly confused by the revelation Bilbo asked, “If you don’t like it, why was there no tapestry covering yours tonight?”

Smiling a little embarrassed, folding away the cloth, Thorin revealed, “Well, let’s just say I developed a liking for early morning light over the last few months. And I guess a part of me was hoping that you would join me.”

Hugging his fiancé for the third time in the last half hour, Bilbo looked up at Thorin and promised, “I will always join you. No matter where you are. Remember? I promised never to leave you. And I intend to keep that promise, even here.”

Before Thorin could say anything or even lower his head to kiss his future husband, Bilbo turned his head away and stifled a yawn. Clearly the day out in the fields had been draining for his fiancé, so with a smile Thorin offered, “What do you say we take a bath and then have something brought to us, so that we can have a quiet dinner in our rooms?”

“I would say you are a genius, my sweet. I could fall asleep on the spot, but my belly will be grumpy tomorrow if I forgo a proper dinner, so I am quite taken with your idea.” Bilbo smiled up at his dwarf and started to shed his dirty clothes, determined to find out where he could wash them. When opening his wardrobe, he found it filled with his garments, cloaks and shirts properly displayed on hangers, trousers and smallclothes neatly folded into several compartments.

Picking a new set of clothes and his dressing grown, Bilbo asked, “Dís helped, didn’t she?”

Surprised Thorin returned form the bathroom where Bilbo could hear water running. “What gave her away?”

The dwarf seemed more than impressed with Bilbo finding out about his sister’s help. But when his hobbit only opened his wardrobe further, Thorin could do nothing but admit defeat. The truth was that Dís had ushered Fíli and Kíli to unpack Bilbo’s things, when they had bothered her after their studies. She had told them where the things should go, and had obviously taken it upon herself to fill Bilbo’s closet. Only when Dori had entered, telling her that they were now ready for her to decide on several wedding arrangements, had she left. Thorin wasn’t sure if he liked the idea of his sister planning his wedding. But ever since this morning he hadn’t even had time to breathe. Several tasks had needed his attention, and he had forced himself to call it a day when he had realized that the sun was colouring the horizon.

Neatly the hobbit put his new clothes on the bench in the bathroom. He didn’t fancy taking dinner only in his smallclothes – that was simply not proper. The bathtub was big enough to hold at least three hobbits, or more likely two dwarrows. So there was more than enough room for him and his fiancé to make good use of the steaming, lavender-scented water. The hobbit smiled inhaling the fragrance of the bath oil. He was aware that Thorin enjoyed the smell on him, but had never thought of acquiring such oil. His soap was usually enough for him.

Clearly, Thorin had a different opinion on that, and who was he to contradict his future husband when he wanted to spoil him with such delicious-smelling products?

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 


	7. An evening alone, mostly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So Thorin and Bilbo have nice rooms. And a big tub. And they deserve to relax, and there is really nothing wrong about that and ... alright, alright, this is smut. No nicer way to say it. Enjoy ;).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you imagine, a hot tub, big enough for three or four people?! Who wouldn't enjoy that?

Bilbo groaned slightly when he sank into a bath that bordered on being too hot. Watching the water floating lazily, the hobbit lowered himself until he could rest his head against the edge. It took only a few moments to get accustomed to the temperature and when he felt the tension of the day seep out of him he closed his eyes in absolute bliss.

Carefully Thorin removed the clasps and unwound Bilbo’s hair. The dwarf himself had already opened all of his braids and placed the gold beads securely on the counter, beside the wooden ones that Bilbo had made for him, and the copper ones that Bilbo had originally worn. Looking at all these beads, as they were lying on the counter, Bilbo found the contrast was quite strong. Looking up at Thorin, Bilbo asked, “Now that we are in the mountains, we could find some more suitable beads for you. You know, so that you don’t have to wear wood and copper. They are hardly suitable for a future king.”

Stepping into the tub, stretching out, facing his hobbit, Thorin shook his head. “You gave them to me so I will wear them proudly. There is hardly anything more suitable for a couple, than wearing the beads they have made for each other.” Exhaling with relief, because the steaming water was already getting to his strained muscles, Thorin closed his eyes and enjoyed the calm and quiet atmosphere of the bathroom.

The water was laced with lavender oil, making it smell slightly like Bilbo’s bathroom. The plumbing that transported the hot water kept the room at a pleasant temperature. The darkness of the stone, unhidden by carpets, gave it a cave-like feeling, a place so comfortable it felt fit for hibernation. Cream-white candles, which stood in two massive candleholders beside the tub, were bathing the scene in a warm, soft light. All in all, Thorin had never felt more relaxed in his own bathroom.

When he dipped his head beneath the surface and reached for the soap to wash his hair, Bilbo beat him to it and whispered, “Let me.” Leaning back with a smile, Thorin allowed Bilbo to manipulate him, so that he was sitting in front of his hobbit. He sighed blissfully when he felt his lover’s small hands spreading soap over his hair. Methodically Bilbo built up lather and took his time, cleaning Thorin’s hair and massaging his head. When he felt the hobbit’s hand at the base of his neck, indicating that he should dip his head again. After Bilbo had rinsed out the soap, Thorin turned around.

Brushing his hair out of his face, squeezing excessive water out of the raven strands that now seemed plastered to his back, the dwarf took the soap from his hobbit. “My turn.” Willingly Bilbo traded places with his fiancé and enjoyed the feel of Thorin playing with his copper locks. Because honestly, what the dwarf did couldn’t be called anything else than ‘playing’ because after building up the lather, Thorin spiked up Bilbo’s hair, pulled it up into several peaks, flattened it back to the hobbit’s skull, separated it into several strands, brushed it up into an impressive mohawk. When one of the by now quite long strands hit Bilbo straight in the face, the hobbit laughed and distanced himself from his lover, dipping his head under the water, to get rid of the soap.

His hair was slick and reflecting the warm candlelight when he resurfaced again, and for a moment Thorin could only stare. Never, not even in his wildest dreams, had he ever thought it to be possible to spend such a carefree time with his hobbit, once back here. Bilbo, didn’t seem to be bothered by not being in the Shire at all, didn’t seem sad or homesick as Thorin had feared. And even when there was more than enough personal space for both of them, his hobbit hadn’t even raised an eyebrow on him when he had joined him in the bath, invading his personal space. And now, with the candlelight making Bilbo’s body glow, and his wet hair crowning his head with copper strands that could not be any more beautiful, a part of Thorin thought himself dreaming. But this was a dream he didn’t wish to wake up from.

The look on his lover’s face, however, made him swallow past a suddenly parched throat. His hobbit didn’t look peaceful or ethereal like a figure of Thorin’s imagination. Quite the contrary: Bilbo was sliding through the water, eyes locked with Thorin’s. When he finally reached the end of the tub where his dwarf sat, the smaller male glided onto his lap and descended his mouth bit by bit. Thorin wanted to arch up, to close the last distance between them, longing for the contact they had refused themselves during the journey. But this was their first time in the Blue Mountains, the first time in nearly two weeks that they had time for themselves. If Bilbo didn’t want to rush things, neither would he.

When their lips finally met, all self-control was forgotten. Thorin pressed up into his fiancé, wrapping his arms around him to pull him closer. He parted his lips for him, so that the hobbit could make good use of their position. Holding on to the soft hips and allowing his hands to caress the enticing backside of his lover, the dwarf moved with purpose, and when their groins touched he couldn’t supress a shiver. Yet his lover seemed to have other plans than just enjoying their closeness, because after a few moments of hungry kissing, Bilbo pulled back, nipping his dwarf’s lower lip with his teeth for one last moment, before separating them.

Sliding down from his lover’s lap, the hobbit leaned down and peppered kisses onto Thorin’s chin and neck before travelling lower, dragging his teeth over his partner’s chest, making his dwarf hiss and arch up into the heady caresses, so that Bilbo had more skin at his disposal.

And the hobbit made good use of the so freely presented surface. His teeth and lips nibbled on the skin of Thorin’s torso and slowly but surely made their way down to his groin. The dwarf could barely steady himself, while afloat, so that his hobbit wouldn’t drown when kissing him. Yet it was hard to remain unmoving, even though Thorin had good motivation, because whenever he moved he was drifting out of Bilbo’s reach.

With a smile, Bilbo pressed closer, allowing their legs to intertwine, while caressing Thorin’s torso lovingly. His wet and slightly oily fingers fondled Thorin’s wide chest, and his lips slowly moved further south. When Bilbo was sure that they had found a stable position – he had never thought it possible to make love in a hot tub, but this was too good a chance to let it pass – he dipped his head and circled Thorin’s steel-hard erection with the tip of his tongue.

The name of his god in the language of his forefathers fell from Thorin’s lips when his hobbit finally touched the part he had wished him so desperately to pay attention to. And that alone told Bilbo that he was doing everything exactly right. To pleasure his lover even more, the hobbit moved his hands to Thorin’s backside, gently caressing his puckered entrance. He wanted to make love to his dwarf tonight. He had been dead to the world yesterday evening, though sleeping in Thorin’s bed had made the new surroundings quite pleasant. But now, when they were finally alone, Bilbo wouldn’t let the opportunity pass to have his dwarf, for the first time in nearly two weeks!

Adorable and needy noises only encouraged Bilbo to intensify his touches and the moment the hobbit swallowed Thorin whole, his finger entered his body from behind. The dwarf nearly lifted the both of them out of the water, but after a moment, he allowed his body to sink down again, looking at Bilbo with glassy eyes, begging silently for him to continue. Obviously Thorin shared his desire for them to be together. With a mischievous smile, Bilbo promised himself to make it good for his lover. He wanted Thorin to always remember the first time they made love in his home.

The surrounding was exotic and therefore suited him quite well, yet it provided a challenge for the hobbit, because he had never entertained a lover under such unusual circumstances. The dip at the river had been quite shallow and allowed two people to hold on to each other with ease. The steaming, hot water, which rose quite high in the spacious tub, allowed them to float quite comfortably, but made it a little more difficult to hold on to each other.

But Bilbo still was able to keep himself within range. Slowly he caressed Thorin’s engorged shaft, enjoying the heavy panting, and took his time, before letting a second finger join the first. Clearly the effort was much appreciated, because his lover was clenching his teeth, clearly having difficulty to take even breaths. Obviously Thorin put as much effort as Bilbo into holding on, so that he would not lose himself in the desire the hobbit awoke in him. Pleased by his lover’s strong reaction, the hobbit only intensified his tender caresses.

 

Thorin was ready to explode. Weeks (alright, a little more than a week) of being denied any relief, due to the simple fact of not having any privacy, had taken their toll on the dwarf and soon Thorin was shaking under Bilbo’s clever lips and fingers, desperately begging to be allowed release, because no matter how stimulating his lover’s caresses were, there was always something missing. Either it was Bilbo’s lips on his shaft, _or_ his gentle fingers inside of his body. Whenever his orgasm threatened to drown him, Bilbo pulled back and watched his lover with awe, pressing gentle kisses on his stomach and hips, but never where Thorin really needed them!

Thorin would have reached for his hobbit; would have turned them around to come out on top, so that he could take what he so badly needed, but if he let go of Bilbo or the tub, he knew they would drift apart, and that was the last thing he wanted at the moment. “Bilbo … Bilbo, please …” His hoarse words were swallowed by the hobbit’s mouth, when suddenly Thorin felt a third finger enter him. Pushing down against it frantically, the dwarf tried to reach for his lover, only to realize that he was losing his point of leverage to press down against the intruders, as soon as he let go of the edge of the tub.

After being thoroughly stretched, Thorin felt Bilbo’s fingers pulling back. Desperately he opened his eyes and searched the gaze of his lover. Yet Bilbo only smiled down at him and caressed his cheek calmingly, rising from the water so that he towered over his dwarf’s body. The hobbit reached for the scented oil that stood beside the tub. For one moment, when he poured a generous amount of oil into his hand, Thorin closed his arms around his lover, pulling him closer. Like a giant cat, the dwarf rubbed his face over his fiancé’s slick belly and couldn’t help but smile when his hobbit let out a huffed laughter, because his lover’s beard was tickling his skin.

After a moment of indulgence of the skin to skin contact, Bilbo leaned down as far as possible and promised, “If you let go of me now, I will make love to you. Wouldn’t you like that, my sweet?”

After placing a loving kiss right on his hobbit’s navel, something that coaxed another giggle from his lover, Thorin pulled him even higher, looking at Bilbo’s shaft and then expectantly at his hobbit. Willing to entertain his lover, the hobbit slowly brought his oily hand down and slicked his cock methodically. He could hear the groan escaping his lover’s lips, when he saw his hands moving over his hard flesh.

A part of Thorin wanted to abandon the idea of Bilbo taking him right now, quite a big part of him to be honest. The sight of his lover’s swollen flesh so enticing before his very eyes, made the dwarf want to reach out to his hobbit, pull his erection to his lips and swallow him whole; coax the soft and pleasurable noises out of him, which Thorin knew Bilbo to make when he was pleasuring him that way. He remembered the evenings when he had made love to his hobbit, savoured his smell and tasted his desire.

Yet Bilbo obviously was not aiming for this kind of intercourse, even when Thorin brushed his lips over the oily surface of his cock. Instead he slowly pulled Thorin back by his locks, seductively caressing the dwarf’s lips with his ‘clean’ hand, quickly finding his finger be captured between them. Slowly, as if in trance, Bilbo lowered himself to his knees in front of Thorin looking into his fiancé’s eyes, asking for permission.

Burying his fingers in his lover’s hair, pulling him close, Thorin breathed, “Yes. Please,” over his lover’s lips, before covering them with his own. Being strong enough to lift his dwarf, because they were surrounded by water, Bilbo pulled Thorin closer and just as his lover’s tongue entered his mouth, he slowly entered his lover’s body. Whimpering slightly, Thorin tugged Bilbo even closer, reaching for the edge of the tub blindly, while wrapping his legs around his hobbit’s hips to pull him as close as possible.

When they were fused together, both took a moment to simply revel in the feeling of being together like this again. The heat, the twilight, them being joined without having to worry who might come in, what needed planning the next day, they simply enjoyed the proximity. It all overwhelmed their senses and both partners fought the imminent peak. After a few moments, Bilbo nipped his lover’s lower lip and when Thorin nodded, the hobbit slowly began to move. This time there was no urgency behind his actions. The sliding movement of skin against skin, being sure that they had all the time in the world, made it the best time they had had in a long while. No sadness, nor heartache, no insecurities about their future overshadowed their love-making and for several long moments, they simply basked in that fact.

Yet it didn’t take long for the passion to overwhelm them again. Bilbo’s movements became more urgent and Thorin arched into his lover to get as much of him as possible. Their fingers intertwined on the edge of the tub and when their orgasm crashed over them, they could barely hold on to keep themselves from sliding down into the warm water. They just basked in the glory of being together, of the passion burning through their bodies, of feeling more of the other than of themselves, hearing each other’s heartbeats, feeling each other’s breathing when being locked in a kiss that should never end.

When they finally came down a little, Thorin allowed Bilbo to glide down over his chest, capturing the hobbit before he lost him in the waves of the scented water. The smaller male seemed to enjoy his resting-place on his lover’s chest, because a little noise of absolute comfort escaped him. For a little while, neither of them said anything; this was too perfect and they didn’t want to destroy the moment. Bilbo lazily drew circles around Thorin’s left nipple and the dwarf gently dragged his fingers through the short, wet strands of his lover.

After a few moments, Bilbo started to giggle. When Thorin looked down questioningly, the hobbit revealed, “That was new, that’s for certain. I never thought that it would be so taxing to make love in a bathtub.”

Surprised, Thorin asked, “You have never done this before?” It was kind of unexpected for him, to have experienced something with his fiancé that Bilbo had never done before. In the dwarf’s mind, his partner knew close to everything about the physical aspects of making love, having revealed that he had entertained a few lovers in the Shire before they had met.

Smiling up at Thorin because of his astounded tone, Bilbo pulled himself up and placed a kiss on Thorin’s nose. “Not once, my sweet. This was as new for me as it was for you.” Smiling mischievously, the hobbit added, “And I have to say that I am not opposed to doing it again. Because I really can’t be sure if I liked it, without trying it at least two times over. What about you? Have you determined yet whether you enjoy making love in a hot tub?”

Grinning at his hobbit, before feigning a frown, Thorin admitted in a seemingly thoughtful voice, “I really can’t be sure at the moment. We should really repeat the experience. Otherwise I can’t decide if I liked it or not.”

Rising out of the tub, laughing out loud, Bilbo nodded. “Yes, I think I might be able to manage tomorrow. If not, we can always reschedule our bath.”

Putting a soft towel around his hobbit’s shoulder, Thorin kissed the soft flesh there and then Bilbo’s neck, and then the tip of his pointy ear, mumbling softly, “Rescheduling is good. We wouldn’t want to overuse all possible scenarios within the first week.” When his hobbit purred affirmatively, Thorin let go of him, to towel down and put on soft trousers and a light shirt. Because as tempting as it sounded to have dinner naked, maybe with an equally naked hobbit at his side, burning himself with a hot meal was not high on the dwarf’s list of priorities.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

When they entered Thorin’s bedchamber, a clay pan sat on Thorin’s coffee table, surrounded by a covered basket and a narrow pot that obviously contained a deliciously smelling soup, because the fragrance of the meal had saturated the air of Thorin’s room and made both of their mouths water.

Giggling slightly, because whoever had served them HAD to have noticed what they were doing in the bathroom, Bilbo only pulled his dressing gown closed over his shirt – the tip of his ears glowing slightly red – and peeked into the pot. Beaming happily he revealed a potato casserole that smelled deliciously of seasoned meat and vegetables.

Thorin tried to clean his table, but after a few moments he admitted defeat and they decided that it would be best to use Bilbo’s salon as their dining-room. All of their rooms were heated by an open fire anyway, so it really didn’t matter, it was comfortably warm everywhere, even though their hair was still wet. When they entered, Thorin carrying the heavy tray and Bilbo carefully balancing the cutlery and dishes in his hands, they both stopped for a moment.

Thorin had never particularly liked this room when Dís had inhabited it. Nor had he disliked it, to be honest. He really hadn’t cared, maybe because he thought it a waste of space when he knew his sister to have an office next to the ‘throne-room’ anyway. But now, with colourful cushions and familiar quilts, with Bilbo’s books stacked on a shelf next to his writing desk and the faint smell of the wildflowers he had brought himself earlier this evening, this room had a distinct feeling of Bag End.

Bilbo obviously thought the same, because he and Thorin shared a happy smile, before Bilbo cleared the wide coffee-table in front of the fireplace from the pipes and started to serve the soup with freshly baked breadrolls, as soon as Thorin had set the dinner tray down. Like in Bag End, both chose the armchairs rather than the sofa. Something that turned out to be a good idea, when only a few moments after they had started their dinner, a demanding knock sounded from the door.

Slightly exasperated, Bilbo bade whoever waited on the other side to enter. As soon as the last syllable had left his mouth the door was opened by Kíli, only to guide his brother into the salon, where he spotted Bilbo and Thorin. Grinning like mad, the siblings put another pot on the coffee-table, presenting the contents with a triumphant ‘tada’!

Now Thorin and Bilbo really didn’t have another choice but to mirror their smiles, because as soon as the cover was lifted, a sweet-smelling bread-pudding was revealed. Fíli and Kíli talked on top of each other about how their mother had decided that for their good work they deserved a treat and – purely out of the goodness of their hearts – they had chosen to share it with their favourite uncles. Of course this had nothing to do with the fact that Dwalin had thrown them out of Dís’s bedroom, when they had started to bug them with nosy questions about his intentions towards their mother.

They grumbled a little when Bilbo informed them that Thorin and he had not finished their meal, so to enjoy their treat together, they had to wait a little. Clearly irritated because of the delay, Fíli and Kíli complained enthusiastically through the entire meal about whatever came to their minds: how unfair it was that they had to go back to their studies, the taxing weapons training and the boring etiquette lessons now that they were back at the mountain.

They complained about Balin’s strict teachings, their arms master’s demanding schedule and the general lack of babies in their surroundings. It was clear that they missed the Shire even more than Bilbo did at the moment. If the hobbit was honest with himself, he hadn’t had enough time today to miss his home. That his dwarrows would go to such lengths to make him feel welcome was really touching and made feel him incredibly welcome.

This feeling only intensified over the duration of the meal when Fíli and Kíli kept nicking morsels off of his and Thorin’s plate and told them about their day and snuggled up on the couch between them. It all felt just like home, even if the surroundings didn’t, and Bilbo held on to that feeling. When they finally came to the dessert, they were all scrambling to be first to get their portions, because when it came to sweets all stops were out for the Durins.

Still Thorin managed to nick a substantial portion of the pudding his nephews had brought to ‘share’, and both he and Bilbo had to defend it vigorously against the young dwarrows, once the latter two had finished their share. It all ended in a fork duel, one that Bilbo won, because when the dwarrows hesitated for a moment when one of them had nicked Bilbo’s hand, the hobbit reached for the forks and confiscated them with a swift movement, only to gather the last of the pudding to his chest, enjoying it in silence.

When the boys realized that their puppy-eyes were not working on their favourite hobbit, they gathered the empty dishes and bade Thorin and Bilbo a good night. What message their mysterious wink was meant to convey was finally understood by Thorin when they entered Bilbo’s bedroom again, pulling free the quilt, which had been secured below the mattress. With a sly grin he held up a small clay pot, very similar to the one that had been sitting on their bedside table in Bag End, and presented it to Bilbo.

How adorable was his hobbit, when the mere thought of others knowing that they were having sex coloured his ears and cheeks in the sweetest red. The truth was, Thorin could not be happier at the moment. He had his fiancé by his side, he was back in the mountains … finally there was a true silver lining on the horizon, making him believe that really everything would turn out fine. His people would be fed, his family was with him, all safe and protected, and his fiancé was on his way of losing his dressing gown, as well as the rest of his clothes.

In this very moment, everything was perfect. So Thorin followed Bilbo’s example with haste. Who said that they could not make good use of the present Fíli and Kíli had left for them …

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 


	8. Change of Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Traditional" arrangements are not always the best thing to hold on to if you want a promising future.

Over the next few days they fell into a comfortable routine. They would share a bed, mostly Bilbo’s because both liked the homey feel of his rooms, and Thorin didn’t want to look at the mountain of paperwork on his desk when having dinner with his fiancé or going to sleep.

They would share a small breakfast together and then join their friends for second breakfast in the dining hall. Bilbo knew that they were drifting apart, now that they didn’t live together any more, but a shared breakfast was a good way to keep in touch and obviously his friends liked it too because whenever they met they talked animatedly about their work. Well, maybe with the exception of the Durins and Nori because nobody really wanted to hear about the trials of ruling a kingdom and Nori was secretive by nature.

During Bilbo’s first week in the mountain he was introduced to the council – many mistrustful faces there – and shown around the mountain – how on earth should he ever remember all the paths and caverns, mines and storage rooms?

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

Four days after his arrival, a meeting was held to familiarize Bilbo with the plans for his and Thorin’s wedding. The hobbit was introduced to the Council member Kiron who knew the history of these traditions by heart. Princess Dís, as well as Councillor Balin and Majordomo Dori were explaining the events that were about to take place on the wedding day. Occasionally the hobbit nodded in understanding and when they were finished with their initial explanation, Bilbo reached for a piece of paper, and pushed it into the middle of the table.

With conviction he stated, “No!” and tapped on the sheet that held the surroundings where the wedding celebration would be held.

Then he reached for another piece, pulled it out of the stack and repeated, “No!” while tapping the garments he and Thorin would be wearing at the ceremony.

Finally he tapped on the topmost paper of the stack that held the wedding vows, and shook his head with a final “Definitely not.”

Looking at the completely dumbfounded councillor – it was obviously the first time that a future royal consort had contradicted the plans for his own wedding – Bilbo started to explain, picking up the papers one after the other.

“If you hold a wedding for a hobbit, the celebration has to be held under the open sky. I won’t be trapped in a mountain where Yavanna can’t find me and bless my union. I understand that your faith lies in Mahal and I have absolutely no problem with the wedding ceremony taking place inside the mountain, it will be rather cold anyway. But the party will be held outside, where we can sing and dance and share our happiness with the earth from where all life comes.

“Second, I want to have a say in the garments Thorin and I will be wearing on our wedding day. I am willing to talk with your tailor, but I want my suggestions to be heard and accepted into our wardrobe. I am not a warrior, for heaven’s sake. There is no way I will be wearing a chain-mail for my own wedding!

“And finally, you are uniting a dwarf and a hobbit, and while I am aware that your traditions have to be upheld, no matter how confusing they are for me, I want my own to be included as well. The vows that are customary between hobbits WILL be used in addition. They are merely a few words and I can provide them to his majesty when he holds the ceremony. Furthermore, the party will end for Thorin and me around midnight, when we will retire for the common period of a week to ten days, bound together by the Green Lady’s blessing. My husband and I will be bound to each other under the open sky by gifts from the High Lady Yavanna. And we will stay in seclusion, until they will fall off on their own.”

Folding his arms in front of his chest, Bilbo looked up at the others, daring them to contradict him.

Of course Master Kiron immediately did so. High-strung and completely incensed, he stuttered, “How can you … How DARE you? … Our traditions have been upheld for countless generations! Who do you think you are that we will change them for you?”

Smiling Bilbo put his hands on the table, leaning over it towards the dwarf, explaining in a composed voice, “I am the first hobbit who is wed to a dwarf since,” he threw a questioning look towards Balin, because the king’s First Councillor usually knew these things, but when the white-haired dwarf didn’t supply a test case, he continued, “since the beginning of your history, I assume.

“I come with traditions of my own, and though I am willing to honour yours, I am not willing to roll over and let you plan over my head. I have my own mind and my own opinion and I will be heard if you expect me to say yes in a month’s time!” Bilbo was rather determined to plead his case. Not that the plans of the dwarrows were not beautiful, but especially the clothes and the place of the celebration really didn’t suit him. Regarding the vows … well Bilbo assumed that Thorin still didn’t realize what “Serve and Obey” meant, so he was about to show him.

The hobbit looked to his friends for some support regarding his choices. However, while Dís hid her amusement at Councillor Kiron’s exasperated stuttering quite well, the hobbit could see her eyes sparkle, so she would likely be of no help. Dori was holding the paper that described the location of the celebration, the gears in his mind already turning to find an alternative that would suit both the dwarrows’ as well as the hobbit’s needs. Balin, finally, walked over to Master Kiron and put a hand on his shoulder. Hopefully Bilbo would get a little backup for his position from him.

In his usual calm and composed tone Balin suggested, “Of course we will be able to take the consort’s ideas into consideration, won’t we, Master Kiron? After all we wouldn’t want to deprive the hobbit, who saved our kingdom from starvation, of his own traditions. We will honour his opinion, and find a way to make this work, so that he can return to the fields without a worry, caring for next year’s harvest.”

Even Bilbo flinched a little by Balin’s implications. Wow, that was laying it on thick: suggesting that Bilbo would let them all starve if his opinion was not honoured. Yet obviously it worked, because instantly Master Kiron goggled at him, swallowing heavily and nodding frantically. Humbly and in a small voice he said, “Of course, Master Baggins. I … everything will be rearranged according to your liking.”

Instantly Bilbo felt the need to reassure the poor dwarf that he would NEVER, EVER let anybody starve if it was in his power to help. But before he could say anything, he felt Dís’s hand on his shoulder. His future sister-in-law advised him in a soft voice, “It’s alright, Bilbo. I will come to you in the evening, so we can go over the changes you have requested. Now don’t worry and leave the rest in our capable hands.”

When Balin and Dori shared an encouraging smile with the hobbit, he relaxed a little and bowed deeply. “In that case I will return to the fields. Thank you for hearing me. Have a good day.” He turned and left.

Outside he found Nori, leaning casually against a wall, waiting for him. A grin on the dwarf’s face told Bilbo that he knew exactly what had transpired in the council chamber. Strolling through the mountain Bilbo said, “You know, I would have never thought Balin to be so threatening. He always seems to be such a nice person.”

Grinning a little wider, Nori reminded the hobbit, “He’s the king’s First Councillor. He knows as much as the king of what is going on in the Blue Mountains, sometimes even more. And occasionally he has to convince His Majesty of a course of action the king isn’t keen on. When occupying such a position, you learn to bend words so that you will get what you want.”

Throwing a disbelieving look at Nori, Bilbo mused, “You know, listening to you one would think that Balin is the most accomplished liar in the entire kingdom.”

Shrugging his shoulders, Nori mumbled, “One of them, certainly.”

Looking at his friend, who consequently avoided his gaze, Bilbo decided not to pursue the subject. He had lived to see that Nori could be very stealthy if the situation required it. The dwarf was always by his side, but entirely unobtrusive. He offered guidance, but never forced Bilbo into a certain direction. All in all, the perfect supporter, one you could easily forget if you were not in need of him.

Not for the first time, the hobbit wondered WHAT position Nori occupied in the king’s court. A “man for everything” surely served as a suitable job-description, because Bilbo had yet to ask a question the star-haired dwarf could not answer. There was more to Nori than met the eyes. But the Baggins part of the hobbit’s personality had taught him patience, so he smiled at his companion and together they walked towards the fields.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

Bilbo spent many days trying to find an explanation why he was so reluctant to plant his winter-rye on the current fields. Therefore he felt more and more miserable, the more time he spent outside of the mountains. He lost his appetite, grew paler and more tired with each passing day. Thorin had already voiced his concern, as had Dís, Fíli and Kíli.

Balin and Dori tried to keep him in his chambers, by sharing the plans for the wedding extensively. Yet after elevensies the latest, Bilbo was out in the fields again, walking through the land, helping with the weeding and bestowing advice now and then on how the irrigation ditches should run. He was running out of time and he knew it, but still, he couldn’t bring himself to give a thumbs-up on the seeding.

When he saw Gentian and Dwalin approaching him, he leaned against his rake tiredly. He had been about to eradicate a particularly persistent stem of weed, and due to his bad luck with it, and the situation in general, he felt more than reluctant to deal with the vile little hobbit.

Dwalin was rather shocked when he saw Bilbo out here. The dining hall, where they usually had breakfast, was lighted by torches, candles and two big fireplaces. Out here, in the unforgiving natural light, the dwarf realized how sick Bilbo really looked. Gazing at the other hobbit, he somehow felt the situation from several days ago reversed. Gentian was looking strong and healthy once again, while Bilbo appeared to be unwell. He felt the urge to hit the hobbit by his side when he heard him snicker.

“Not as good in the field as everybody was hoping for, are you?” Gentian snarked, dismounting his pony. Approaching Bilbo with an air of superiority around him, he taunted, “In case you haven’t noticed, the first frost is coming soon. If you don’t start the seeding now, nothing will come of it. Or has your brilliant gardener not taught you that the corn has to be inside the earth BEFORE the frost sets in?”

Maybe it was the weather, or the weed or the whole goddamn situation, but at that very moment Bilbo lost his composure and snapped viciously. “You know what, Gentian, if you have nothing useful to offer, shut your mouth!” Actually it felt good to let it all out, all the frustration, all the feelings of inadequacy that had accumulated over the last few days, and the hobbit was a scumbag, so Bilbo had no inhibitions stepping to him, poking his chest and shouting, “You are nothing but a nuisance and had my grandfather not decided on you being here as your punishment, I would send you back to the Shire in an instant. You think you are so superior and knowing EVERYTHING!

“Don’t you think that I am aware that we are running out of time? I have done ALL I CAN to watch over these fields, but they are not RIGHT! And I won’t plant a seed I have paid for with bag end, only to see it wasted in bad soil!”

Instantly everybody grew very silent. Nobody had seen their charming and supportive hobbit lose it like that. Nori came closer, ready to step in if Gentian tried to return the poking. Dwalin stared at Bilbo with utter disbelief, his face turning pale at the revelation. Only Gentian didn’t seem to think too much of it.

With a sneer he said, “So what? If it doesn’t turn out well, you can go back to your grandfather and ask for help again. No big deal.”

Bilbo’s posture, however, turned rigid at that statement. In an icy tone he declared, “King Thráin offered his son and his grandsons up for manual labour for the hobbits’ help. Me marrying Thorin was the only way to save them from it. His son is about to marry a hobbit, what do you think will he be able to offer next summer?”

Taking a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down, Bilbo stated, “No, Gentian, this is it. This is all the help we get. That’s why I was willing to give up my home for it. We either make it, or we will die with these dwarrows. Get used to it, because not even you can survive five years, when there is not enough or only sick food in the winter. We hobbits need more food than a dwarf, guess who will suffer first?”

Completely baffled, Gentian stated, “This is stupid, Bilbo, and you know it. Why give up Bag End? Where will you return to, if it doesn’t turn out well between you and … and that dwarf?”

Only Nori’s swift reaction prevented Dwalin from clobbering Gentian for the disrespectful tone he used when talking about his prince. But Nori caught him just in time, pulling him back from the hobbits, trying to placate the warrior.

With a sad smile, Bilbo answered tiredly, “That is not an option. There is no way back to the Shire for me. Thorin will be my wedded husband and no matter what happens, I will remain by his side. Through good times as well as bad ones, just like the Green Lady expects from us. Such vows are sacred and I will not dishonour my family by breaking them.”

Looking at Bilbo like he was seeing him for the very first time, Gentian shook his head and whispered, “You are a fool, Bilbo Baggins, maybe an even greater fool than your parents were for thinking they could take on these wolves alone. They should have run, as should you. You are just too stubborn to see that.”

With an exhausted sigh, because after the shouting he felt too drained to work up a rightful anger towards Gentian for bringing his parents into this, Bilbo explained, “Wolves are fast, faster than hobbits as you very well know. There was no running from them, as there is no running for me now. I have made my decision and I will stay by it, no matter the consequences.”

For several moments, the hobbits just stared at each other; Bilbo sad and worn, Gentian obviously lost in thought, until he turned around, passing by Nori and Dwalin, and mounted the pony he had used. With a sharp command he ordered, “Come with me.”

“Come where?” Bilbo was too tired to play games.

But Gentian just snapped impatiently, “Could you _please_ stop asking stupid questions and just COME? What do you think I will do? Kidnap you? With our looming shadows behind us? Forget your haughtiness for one moment, Bilbo Baggins, and just mount your ride and follow me.”

Climbing the pony Nori was steadying for him, Bilbo guided Myrtle close to Gentian’s ride. Immediately they took off and swiftly trotted over the fields. They left the arena where the dwarrows of the Blue Mountains had done their harvest, rode along a small piece of wood, jumped over a tiny river and all the while Bilbo had not the slightest clue what Gentian was up to.

Maybe it was foolish to follow the other hobbit in good faith. He had made it very clear what he thought of Bilbo after all. Yet Bilbo was out of options. If Gentian couldn’t present a viable alternative for the location of the fields right now, the hobbit wouldn’t have another chance but to sow the winter-rye in the sick fields the dwarrows had used for the last twenty years. And just when that thought came up, Bilbo knew it to be right. There really was no other explanation. The fields surrounding the entrance of the dwarven kingdom were just that: sick, and everything that came from them would be sick too.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

Dwalin and Nori were taking the chance for a private conversation, while following their respective hobbits. Dwalin was currently accusing Nori in a low voice of hiding information. He had seen Nori looking not all that surprised when Bilbo had revealed that he had sold his childhood home for the winter-rye. And even when the prince’s bodyguard thought the other dwarf a pretty composed one, losing one’s home was connected to unpleasant feelings for all of them. Not even the self-possessed Nori would have been able to act unaffected by that.

“You knew, didn’t you? How long? For how long have you known that Bilbo had put his home on the table to acquire the winter-rye from his cousin?” Dwalin hissed challengingly.

Sighing slightly, because Bilbo definitely wouldn’t like this story to be spread, Nori confessed, “Ever since the day he did it. You remember the harvesting week? When he didn’t return to the fields one afternoon? I was working at the Sackville-Bagginses’ that week, and around teatime Bilbo came around and asked Otho for his special hybrid rye. At first Otho refused to sell it, obviously it is pretty special and will bring him and his family great honour. But Bilbo remained insistent and as a last resort offered Bag End as payment. Otho accepted. They agreed that he will keep his smial until next fall, so that he gets a chance to gather everything he needs. Then it will go to his cousin and his wife.”

“Lobelia you mean …” Dwalin mumbled. He didn’t doubt Nori’s words in the slightest. That was just how Bilbo was, willing to put everything on the table for his family. When another thought occurred to him, he asked in a low voice, “How did Thorin take it?” He really couldn’t imagine his best friend reacting kindly to such a revelation.

Determined, Nori pulled their ponies back even further, grabbing the reins from Dwalin’s pony, pulling them closer together. Insistently he demanded, “Thorin does NOT know! And Bilbo wishes him to remain oblivious to his arrangement. And you have to keep it that way, Dwalin. You mustn’t tell Thorin anything! Do you understand?”

“Thorin has to know about this!”

“Yes, Dwalin, you are right,” Nori sighed, “Thorin has to know. But it is not our place to tell him. This is Bilbo’s home. He is his future husband. I swore to Bilbo not to interfere with his affairs. And now I want you to promise me the same. Our hobbit wants to keep this to himself and while I don’t agree with him, I won’t betray his trust by revealing it to my prince. What about you, Dwalin? Bilbo is our saviour. He is working himself sick so that he can provide for our people. How will you repay him his determination?”

Slumping his shoulders, as he knew he had been beaten, Dwalin mumbled, “Alright, I promise. But Bilbo has to tell him at some point. It’s not right that he loses his home for saving ours.”

Nori allowed himself a tiny smile, relieved that Dwalin had given in. With a shrug he said, “As I said, I completely agree with you. But it has to be Bilbo’s decision, we are not to interfere.”

“Rich words from the ‘information officer’ of the Blue Mountains.” The big warrior was grinning now and urging his pony on. While he didn’t like the decision Bilbo had made to save their people, he still didn’t want him to come to harm out here. There was an imminent crisis for the hobbit to deal with; everything else could come later.

 

When they finally came to the end of the little wood, Bilbo stopped dead in his tracks. A wide valley with numerous mountain terraces stretched out in front of him. Taking in the picture, gaping at the view, Bilbo urged his pony on, so that they would get closer.

 

 

The stones that held the terraces were crude, and the steps themselves were often covered with boulders and stones, yet the grass and the weed that sprouted between them looked rich and healthy. Unable to believe his good faith he stammered, “But … they could be really shallow, not at all suitable for agriculture.”

Gentian, however, contradicted him, “I have been here every day for the last week. I have dug several holes, at least three feet deep each. Only once have I reached stone, at the topmost terrace. The land is green and fertile. The water comes from a well at its top. Not overly much, but with the Green Lady’s help and a suitable amount of rain it would work.”

Bilbo turned slowly towards Dwalin for confirmation, because he really couldn’t see Gentian picking up a shovel, and the dwarf replied grumpily, “Yes, he did. Whatever task I gave him, he finished it in record time and was out here half an hour later. Though I have no clue why digging holes into the ground might be sensible work.”

Looking at his fellow hobbit with a glimmer of newfound respect, Bilbo stated, “We need to free it form the boulders.”

“And weed it, because there are a lot of wild plants out there.” added Gentian.

As if checking a mental list Bilbo continued, “We need to plow it, and that won’t be easy with these terraces.”

Only to be answered, “But it will be possible. If these blasted dwarrows get their butts around here and stop tidying the poisoned fields they are currently tending to.”

“Then, it can work.”

“Yes, it can work.”

Tired, but with reignited fire in his brown eyes, Bilbo looked into detached green ones. For the first time since the summer, the two hobbits had a common goal. Without a word they turned their ponies around and passed by their ‘shadows’ in a swift trot.

When asked where they thought they were going, Bilbo shouted, “To talk to the king. We will relocate the fields,” before galloping off.

Sharing a confused look, because these surroundings with that many rocks and no level fields didn’t look at all suitable for growing crops, Dwalin and Nori egged their ponies on and followed them.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to admit that I am not exactly sure where this pictures comes from. I just googled 'Mountain Terraces' and there it was. I mirrored it, groomed it a little so that it looks greener and healthier. I think this is either Peru or Bolivia, but I am sure it is some place in South America.  
> I wanted something to inspire me, like all the other pictures I have used. And this place really looks magical.
> 
> Edit: Meggiekat123 just pointed out to me that these mountain terraces are from either China (my betareaders guess) or the Philippines. I think I remember now that it's the Philippines. Thank you very much girl!


	9. Different Opinions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo makes a decision regarding the seeding of the winter-rye. Sadly it is not popular with everybody.
> 
> Additionally the back-story of a certain hobbit is revealed. There is a reason Gentian was always so bitter and full of hatred, a very good reason! Please proceed with caution.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, I'm back. Did you miss me? Sorry, but life just got the better of my. But I have not abandoned this fic. I couldn't not with all of you readers at my side who still sustain me with your reviews, and a betareader at my side who kicks but! Mostly mine when I am writing crap ;).
> 
> Just one word about this chapter: caution! My warning in the summary was serious. This was very hard to write and I cried not only when writing, but also when editing it the first two times. Gentian is an asshole, there is no way around it, but there is a very good reason for him being this way. Please read this, because it's important, but be aware that the second part of it will be really heart breaking.

When Bilbo burst into the prince’s room, Thorin nearly fell over in his chair in surprise. It was not that unusual that Bilbo would use the ‘shortcut’ through Thorin’s chamber to reach his own. They usually enjoyed brief conversations and tender touches before they returned to their respective tasks. But his slightly sick lover dashing through his room, losing his clothes on his way to their bath-room, startled him.

Puzzled, because this was the most energetic Thorin had seen Bilbo in more than a week, he followed his fiancé. Bilbo stood at the basin, with his chest bare, rubbing away the dirt from working in the fields, as quick as possible. Thorin had to wonder. “Bilbo … are you alright?”

Completely out of breath, his hobbit answered, “Of course I am. I have to talk to the king. We will relocate the fields, Gen… we have found a new, a better location, where the soil is not sick.” Towelling off swiftly, Bilbo rushed to his room, only to waver slightly at the entrance. He was still weak from working in the poisonous fields for so long. Throwing open his wardrobe, he reached for a new set of clothes.

Helping his jittery fiancé lace shirts and fasten buttons, Thorin wondered, “What do you mean by ‘sick’? Earth is not a living thing, how can it be sick?”

Dragging a comb through his locks forcefully to make himself look even remotely presentable, Bilbo explained, “Of course earth is a living thing. It breathes, it needs nourishment and care. And the earth of _your_ fields is ill and everything that grows there is ill by extension. We have a chance to relocate the fields. Sow the seed in a place where the soil is still healthy and fertile. The harvest will be good, at least if there is enough water. I just have to explain this to your father. I am sure the king will understand.”

Bilbo stopped his frantic movements and turned to Thorin. Sadness clouded the dwarf’s features and his hobbit instantly reached for him to show his support. In a mere whisper the dwarf spoke, “That’s why so many of us get sick. Last year Fíli and Kíli were on the brink of death because of starvation and malnourishment. We have been weakening ourselves by planting seed in sick earth. We could have lost them! By Mahal, Bilbo, how do we fix this?”

Closing his arms around his future husband, hugging him fiercely, Bilbo promised, “We will stop this and make all of you healthy again. As healthy as your nephews who are strong and resistant now, because they ate healthy food during the entire summer! We will relocate the fields and abandon this year’s harvest. We have brought enough food from the Shire. It might be a little short without any additional supplies from the mountains, but it will be healthy and sustain the kingdom. We can do this, lover. We just have to convince your father.”

Burying his face in his lover’s locks, because the realization surely made Thorin feel a little weak in the knees, he inhaled the scent of his hobbit. There was still sunshine and lavender, but even Thorin could now recognize that the earthy undertone in Bilbo’s natural fragrance didn’t smell like it should. Bilbo had poisoned himself for the last week and even Thorin could notice that. How bad had it gotten, with him walking over the bad soil on bare feet? But no matter what had happened and what could have happened if Bilbo had continued working in the bad fields; the beautiful eyes of his lover once again burned with determination, looking unnaturally vibrant in his pale face. The dwarf knew that his hobbit was now on a mission, one he would see through.

After a fortifying breath, Thorin brushed off a piece of earth that had fallen from Bilbo’s locks onto his coat and gestured towards the exit. “I will accompany you. The council is currently in session. There is no better time for you to explain what has to be done.”

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

Thorin took Bilbo’s hand on their way to the council chamber, gently kissing the tips of his fingers, because the hobbit couldn’t stop fidgeting with the buttons of his waistcoat. Only when his dwarf laced their fingers together, was he able to summon some form of composure. In front of the tall doors that led into the council chamber Thorin squeezed Bilbo’s fingers one last time before letting go, taking a step back. He would support his future husband all the way. Bilbo was the expert in the Blue Mountains, when it came to all of Yavanna’s gifts. Now he was about to prove it and Thorin put his hand at Bilbo’s back supportively and gave his hobbit a small push.

Squaring his shoulders, Bilbo knocked. After a mere moment, an angry looking dwarf opened and snapped, looking down at Bilbo, “What do you want? The council is in session, we have important matters to discuss.”

Irritated by the dwarf’s rudeness, Bilbo straightened himself even more and explained, “As have I. Please inform the king that I have something to say. I am Bilbo Baggins of Bag … of the Shire, and what I have to say is very important for this kingdom. I wouldn’t interrupt His Majesty otherwise!”

Before the strange dwarf could prance around, the king spoke up, “Master Nelan, what’s the matter?”

“It’s this halfling, Your Majesty. He wants to interrupt our session,” was the somewhat respectful, yet snarky response.

Thorin was about to step in to give this impertinent dwarf a proper dressing-down, when the door opened fully, his father standing on the other side. With a warm smile he looked at Bilbo. His smile faltered when he took in the hobbit’s pale and haggard face. “Mister Bilbo Baggins is not half of anything, Master Nelan. And if our esteemed _hobbit_ has to say something, you will allow him to enter.”

Without waiting for a comment from the council member, Thráin opened the door all the way and invited Bilbo in. When Thorin passed him by he held back his son and asked in a worried whisper, _> Why is he sick?_<

Thorin placed his hand on his father’s shoulder to calm him, revealing briefly, > _It’s the earth. He will explain._ <

Offering Bilbo a seat on his left, while Thorin sat on his right, Thráin asked in a business-like tone, “Now, Mister Baggins, to what do we owe the honour of your visit?”

Slightly unsure, because all the eyes now rested upon him – and very few of them looked friendly – Bilbo drew a deep breath and rose from the chair. “Your Majesty, respected council members, today I have decided that the rye I brought with me will not be sown on the fields you have used for the last twenty years.”

Holding up his hands, to calm the irritated whispers, Bilbo continued, “I have learned that the soil is not fit for growing any more. There is something in the earth, some poison that makes the crops grown there sick. Therefore we have found a new place for next year’s harvest. But it still needs some work before it is ready for sowing. So now we will need the help of every last dwarf of the Blue Mountains, to make them fit for seeding.

“Time is of the essence. The rye has to go into the earth before the first frost sets in. I think we can do this if everybody lends us a helping hand. It will take no more than ten days. We will have to work in several shifts. But it is absolutely manageable, with everyone’s support of course. Next year we will have new and fertile soil to plant the rich corns that will feed the kingdom. So I want to ask you for the swiftest way to provide as many workers as possible, to prepare the new fields.”

With a satisfied nod Bilbo resumed his place. He had explained the problem and provided a solution. Now he only had to wait for the workers to be made available so that they could start. Maybe even this afternoon. What he had not been able to foretell, was the unkind reaction of the dwarrows to his revelation. Within a heartbeat the chamber was filled with shouts of denial. Obviously the dwarrows didn’t take it well that Bilbo would change the accustomed procedures practically overnight. They shouted at each other and most of all they shouted at him.

Every time Bilbo tried to stand up to explain his decision, he was shut down forcefully from a different direction. Whenever he tried to tell them about the awful feeling he had when stepping into the sick earth, he was called an inexperienced earth-digger before he could finish his explanation. And when he dared to mention that the dwarrows of the Blue Mountains were weak, even sick because of the food they ate, and that the harvest should be disposed of, he was called a downright liar and traitor to the kingdom.

After merely half an hour he had enough. Neither Thorin nor Thráin had spoken a single word, neither against him nor in his favour. The council members on the other hand, had been shouting at each other and at him. So when he had had enough of the useless waiting, Bilbo rose from his chair and brought his hand onto the polished surface of the table quite forcefully.

Within a moment everybody was silent and looking at the raging hobbit. Glaring at them, Bilbo yelled, **“I really couldn’t care less what all of you think of me, but I have worked day in and day out to find a solution for the diminishing harvest of your people. I have walked the grounds, helped your farmers, I have even brought winter-rye for fertilizing from the Shire. And when I finally present a solution, what do I get for it? Being called a liar and a traitor! YOU are a bunch of hard-headed, stupid dwarrows who don’t know the first thing about growing things. And now you will please excuse me, because _I_ will now go and prepare the new fields, all on my own if necessary, because I will not have your people to suffer any longer. Good day!”**

With that Bilbo pushed back his chair and stormed from the room, slamming the door quite forcefully.

After several moments of stunned silence, the arguing started again, although in a far more hushed tone.

Thráin turned towards his son and heir who was looking after his husband with a proud smile on his lips. Lowly he asked, “So from what I understand, we have been weakening ourselves with the corn we had planted, because the earth is sick, and everything that grows on it is therefore sick too.”

Thorin could only nod, because that’s what he had understood from his fiancé’s words as well. “Maybe the reason why our women can’t carry as many children as before also stems from this problem. We have to do something, father. We will ruin ourselves if we don’t follow Bilbo’s advice. You really should believe him.”

With a short nod Thráin assured Thorin, “I don’t doubt his words in the slightest. Your future husband was telling the truth as he saw it. The question is, is his solution really the best course of action? It will take a huge amount of work to make any other place suitable for seeding. Even Mister Baggins admitted that.”

Unseen and unheard by the other council members, Nori had taken up a place behind the king’s chair. Leaning down, he wordlessly asked if he was allowed to offer his opinion, and when Thráin nodded, he spoke in a hushed voice. “Bilbo … I mean Master Baggins inspected the terraces behind the little wood on the northern side of our borders. They are not level, but they are stable if you take the opinion of several miners into consideration, who had investigated this region when we first came here. It will be more difficult to harvest there, but it should be possible.

“I have talked to Bombur. In his opinion, we will be a little short, but far from starving like last year, even if we choose not to use the corn we have harvested this year. It’s not that much anyway,” Nori summed up the information he had gathered since returning to the mountain.

For several moments Thráin thought things through, looking at his advisors who were still bickering about the strain and uselessness of relocating the field, taking in the settled look on his son’s face (Thorin’s faith in his hobbit knew no bounds), and the emotionless mask Nori was wearing. Surprising his information officer, he asked, “What is your opinion? If you were in my position, how would you decide?”

For a brief moment, the perfect mask slipped, and Nori looked at his king with open surprise. But swiftly he composed himself and thought about the question. It was rare that his king asked his opinion: he was to offer information, not judgement. Yet whenever it happened, Nori took his time, thinking about the answer. Remembering everything he had learned about hobbits over the last few weeks, and what he had seen with his own eyes regarding Bilbo’s deteriorating health, he decided, “It’s a risk, Your Majesty. Leaving behind what we know and relocating our entire harvest to a different, more remote location is straining and wearisome for every last dwarf who will work there. And it will impact the public opinion greatly if you allow the prince’s future spouse to make such a momentous decision. But if the hobbits see a way to make this work, I have absolute faith that it will. Master Baggins and Master Longleaf are far more affected by the state of the earth than any one of us. It's got to the point where they both have fallen ill because of the earth they are working on. It’s not a coincidence if BOTH hobbits react that way.

“If Master Baggins assures you, Your Majesty, that his plan can work, it will – provided that he gets the support he had asks for. With only his family and friends by his side, he will not accomplish what needs to be done. He will try, that’s for sure, but he won’t succeed, not on his own.”

“You really think he will go out there and try this on his own?” Thráin wondered.

Sharing a swift glance with Nori, Thorin nodded. “I assume he is already on his way, my lord.”

 

This was a hard decision. It was a game of luck to put his faith, the fate of his people, in a simple hobbit instead of the farmers who had done their very best to feed them for the last two decades. Yet, if he was inclined to believe his son and information officer, Bilbo Baggins was incapable of lies and deceit, as well as bad judgement when it came to all things growing from the earth. Both his heir and his spymaster had absolute faith in the hobbit’s words.

Taking a step back to review the possibilities, Thráin made a decision. Out of necessity, he had offered his son and grandsons to a community that knew nothing about Mahal but everything about his wife Yavanna. Luckily the threat that had been hanging over all their heads – losing a member of their family to these hobbits – had not come to pass. Instead he had gained a future son-in-law, one who knew all there was to know about growing and harvesting. He decided that if he couldn’t trust Bilbo, every trial his family had gone through over the summer had been in vain. That was not something he could accept.

Turning towards Nori, he ordered in a low voice, “Find Balin and spread the word that tomorrow at nine, every dwarf physically capable of working the fields will ready himself to support the future royal consort. I won’t make this an order, but you should emphasize the point that the hobbit – who had brought enough food to survive the winter – needs help to feed us come spring. I am sure between you and Balin you can come up with a suitable choice of words.”

Then he rose from his seat. Swiftly the chatter and arguing died down when the council members saw both Durins standing at the head of the table. In a calm voice Thráin decided, “This session is over. I will go now, and inspect the location of our new fields. Tomorrow at nine I want each and every one of you ready for fieldwork.”

“But you can’t …” – “That’s outrageous …” – “We didn’t come to a decision regarding that matter!” Several council members were talking on top of each other, voicing their discontent regarding the king’s decision.

Smiling a little, the sovereign informed his council, “See, that’s the beauty of being king. You are my council, you advise me. But the last decision lies with me. And I have decided to trust a person who has gone to great lengths to ensure that we won’t die of starvation this winter. Good day, gentlemen.” Leaving behind his utterly baffled council, Thráin exited the room to follow Bilbo, ready to inspect the suggested location with his own eyes.

Before he followed his father, Thorin held back Nori before he could disappear to see to the king’s orders. In a low voice he asked of him, “Find Dwalin and your brothers, Bifur and Bofur, as well as my nephews. Bilbo is out there, we both know it. And he is still sick, so let’s lend him a helping hand.”

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

“Why did you do it?” Dwalin’s question came grumpily as always when he and Gentian returned to the Mountain after visiting the mountain terraces. Bilbo had dashed off immediately, but they could take their time.

Unsaddling his pony, gently brushing its mane, the hobbit chose to ignore his task-master.

Most of the time, Dwalin didn’t mind this treatment. The less he and the hobbit talked, the better for both of them. But today he had seen something, something he couldn’t explain, and suddenly he wanted to know why this hobbit had acted helpfully. Gentian had obviously planned this for more than a week now. Otherwise he would not have returned to the terraces time and time again, to inspect the soil and the ground on the different levels. Helping had never been in the hobbit’s book until now. He had done what he had been ordered to do, no more, no less. And he had made it clear that he really couldn’t stand the sight of a dwarf. So why was he helping all of a sudden?

Dwalin reached for Gentian’s arm, turning him around with unexpected gentleness and repeated his question, “Why did you help Bilbo to find a new location? Are you that afraid of dying here with us?”

Pulling his arm from the warrior’s grasp forcefully, the hobbit hissed, “Dying is NOT the worst thing that can happen to you,” before he turned around and stomped away into the direction of his quarters. Clearly the hobbit had no intention of sharing his motivation.

The dwarf followed on his heels. When the hobbit tried to escape to his rooms, the warrior fought his way in, pushing the door open before Gentian could close it completely. Towering over the smaller creature, the dwarf demanded, “I know it’s not. I have fought enough battles to know that it hurts far more to see your friends and family dying around you, knowing that you were not swift enough to protect them. But you are no warrior and we are certainly not your family. So explain!”

Turning around furiously, Gentian bellowed at the dwarf, “You don’t have to be a warrior to see your family dying!

“There just has to be a harsh winter. A winter that drags out so long that your food supplies run out. A winter that makes the Brandywine river freeze solid, so that the wolves can invade your home. That keeps you from travelling to Bree to buy food for your mother, who is still bedridden from giving birth to your baby sister at the beginning of the winter!

“You don’t have to be a warrior to suffer when watching your parents waste away through starvation. Watching your newborn sister grow weaker and weaker every single day, just because your mother doesn’t have enough milk to sustain her. Lying in your bed with the desperate thought that your baby sister should only stop whimpering for a few short moments, so that you can get at least a little sleep. Relieved when she finally does, and you wake up well-rested, ready to pick her up and change her, only to find her lifeless body in the crib!

“You don’t have to be a warrior to lose your family! All you have to be is a hobbit who is refused ANY help from the nearby dwarven kingdom. I could do NOTHING! My baby sister didn’t even live through her name-giving ceremony. Tell me, _dwarf_ , how shall Yavanna find her in her endless fields, if she doesn’t even have a name to call her?”

 

Shaking and with clenched fists, the hobbit glared daggers up at the dwarf, completely out of breath. And for the first time, Dwalin was able to see more than an egoistic, self-centred creature who stopped at NOTHING to get his revenge. Balin’s and his father had been an honourable warrior. Losing him to the dragon had hurt, but at least Dwalin had had his brother. The thought of losing him too nearly suffocated the warrior. He couldn’t even imagine how it must be, to lose a baby sister, just because people who were absolutely able to help refused to do so, on a whim.

“Come with me.” Dwalin turned around after the short order, convinced that the hobbit would follow. His third cousin Náli lived in the centre of their town, where it was warm and as safe as possible. Knocking on her door, the warrior and his ‘guest’ were swiftly ushered in, and as soon as they had entered, Náli returned to the crib that stood in the centre of the room.

Rocking it slightly, the chestnut-haired dwarf looked at the warrior. “What can I do for you, cousin? Did you come to visit your favourite niece?”

“Indeed, I did.” Dwalin smiled when being presented with a tiny bundle of blankets that contained the most beautiful dwarven baby. At the beginning of the summer, Dwalin had occasionally visited his cousin and her family. But never in a million years had he thought to pick up her child. He had thought himself too big, too clumsy and far too inexperienced with babies. But the forceful nature of the Old Took had taught him otherwise, and his and Balin’s niece now had come to enjoy regular visits from her uncles, ever since they had returned from the Shire. That he usually carried a toy with him, something Bifur supplied him with, did help a great deal to gain the baby’s sympathy. The little baby-girl simply loved to chew them.

Turning towards the hobbit, who looked at the baby in silent awe, Dwalin explained, “My cousin Náli here is the second lady-dwarf who has managed a successful pregnancy this year. Her daughter was born in early spring, around the same time when our king asked for the thain’s help for the first time. Luckily her father is a huntsman and can supply his family with fresh meat.”

Under the watchful eyes of her mother, Dwalin placed the baby in the arms of the startled hobbit. Dwalin was aware that Náli would never have allowed this, had she known Gentian’s history. But if there was one thing that the dwarf had learned over the summer, it was that because the hobbits were incredibly fertile, there was nothing more important in their lives than their children. They cared, fed, clothed and washed every child on their doorstep. They tended to scrapes and hurts and supplied cookies to their childrens’ playmates, whenever the situation called for it.

Hobbits were no warriors, but they were fiercely protective of their offspring. For them their children were their gold and jewels and they treasured them more than anything else in their lives. Gentian proved Dwalin right, when he instinctively cradled the small dwarven baby in his arms protectively, supporting the head, brushing away a stubborn curl that fell into the baby’s eyes. He allowed himself a smile when the little girl looked up at him in wonder, reaching for his beardless chin.

Getting closer to the hobbit, Dwalin stated in a mere whisper, so that his cousin wouldn’t hear, “She will have healthy food from now on. Nothing poisonous will get into her system, not even through her mother. And maybe, in a few years, when all traces of the sickness are gone from Náli’s body, she will even have a baby brother or sister. So for whatever reason you have decided to help, the mothers and children of this kingdom will be forever grateful.”

Looking up at Dwalin for a very long time, Gentian finally put the baby back into the crib, congratulating her mother on the beautiful child, before he turned around and left the apartment without another word.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 


	10. New fields

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo is angry and everybody get's his share.  
> And two people will do the right thing. One a servant, one a convict.

Bilbo fumed. No, hobbits didn’t do such a thing, it was more that he was slightly angered and he … no, he fumed. He even suspected that there was smoke rising from his ears and nostrils, because he was so very angry at these STUPID, STUBBORN, HARD-HEADED DWARROWS.

Luckily Myrtle sensed his distress and held still when he saddled her (a little too roughly) before leaving the stables. Once out in the open, his anger eased a little. He still felt the need to prove his point, so he spurred on his pony. When they arrived on the mountain terraces a few minutes later, he slid smoothly from the saddle and turned around. Myrtle was still pulling back her ears, eyeing him warily. But when he scratched her head and nuzzled her muzzle she relaxed considerably and nudged into him.

“We have to prove them wrong. This place IS suitable for seeding. It’s healthy and green. You like it too, don’t you, girl?” Gently Bilbo petted her neck, before approaching the first wall. As if to prove him right, his pony started to nibble at the grass and enjoy the warm sun of the early afternoon.

Walking along the bottom of the mountain, Bilbo inspected the walls that kept the soil in. Most of them were only a little higher than him and at the end of the wall some kind of stairs had been improvised to climb the levels. They were crude and made of simple boulders, but enough for Bilbo to reach the first level. There he saw the first hole Gentian had dug and looked down it before walking over the field. His right hand slid along the wall of the next level. It seemed strong enough, but what did he know? He needed to get Bifur and Bofur to look at these. They could tell him for sure if the walls needed reinforcement.

He climbed the second level and then the third. On every level he found the aforementioned holes that told him that there was plenty of earth, and burying his fingers into it, turning it around, smelling the soil revealed that it was healthy and fertile. For the first time in a week Bilbo understood how very sick the earth of the other fields was. Here he could feel Yavanna’s breath all around him. There he had just felt … nothing. And as a creature of the earth he had been greatly disturbed by it. You never know what you have until you miss it.

Briefly he looked over the other levels, before deciding that the best way to start was to remove the rocks at the very bottom. Being alone for now, the lowest level would provide the least challenge. In that way he would be able to remove even the bigger rocks, simply by rolling them over the edge. He still didn’t feel good, but he would be damned if he would allow these stupid, stubborn and hard-headed dwarrows to keep him from his task.

 

The smaller stones hadn’t been a problem. But when it came to the rocks that were knee-high, he had very little chance to move them without help. He had gathered a long stick from the nearby wood. He tried to stick it under one of the bigger stones to get some leverage. But the stupid thing would always roll to the side and NEVER in the direction of the edge. With each fruitless attempt he got angrier. Once again he started to rant and rave about these stupid dwarrows who wouldn’t lend him a hand because they thought him a liar. He! A liar! Bilbo Baggins of Bag End telling ANYTHING but the truth! How dared they? They didn’t know him! He was a respectable Baggins! Of Bag … OF THE SHIRE! He deserved better than being treated like a lunatic! He …

“Do you need a hand, Master Baggins?”

Caught off guard by the calm voice, Bilbo slipped and fell to his bum. When looking up and saw a smiling Dori peeking down at the hobbit, offering a helping hand. For the first time since their departure from the Shire, the dwarf only wore a shirt and trousers instead of the fancy clothes he preferred in the mountain. His sophisticated hairstyle had been toned down to the simple braids he had used to wear when working in the fields of the Shire. Without waiting for an answer, he first helped Bilbo to his feet and then lifted the boulder effortlessly out of Bilbo’s way and rolled it over the edge.

Dumbfounded, Bilbo looked at Dori, only to see Fíli and Kíli standing at the bottom of the mountain, next to Bifur and Bofur who seemed to be discussing something about the wall, if their gestures where anything to go by. Ori had just arrived and was just putting his ever-present journal into a saddle-bag, and Dwalin was halting his pony, jumping off its back, Balin at his side.

Completely taken aback by the presence of his friends, Bilbo needed a moment to realize that Dori still waited for his answer. Laughing out loud and pulling the royal majordomo into a hug, Bilbo nodded enthusiastically and explained: “Yes, yes, please, several more hands would be truly appreciated!”

Gesturing towards the different levels he explained, “We need to remove all the stones from the fields. Maybe gather them on the side. We might need them to strengthen the walls later on. I don’t know if they will hold. I thought about piling them up by the forest, maybe we will make a shack there, to hold the tools, you know?”

Instantly Ori as well as Fíli and Kíli started to climb the steps and began to gather stones, throwing them to the bottom of the mountain. Dori and Dwalin turned towards the bigger boulders, rolling them off the level. Walking up to the second level, Bifur and Bofur gestured Bilbo to come over.

As always Bofur served as mouthpiece for both. “We will inspect the walls but from the way they look we think they will hold. Maybe we will need to reinforce them to some extent but generally they seem okay. We will start with a thorough inspection at the top and work our way down.”

Hugging Bofur and Bifur fiercely, tremendously grateful for their support, Bilbo took a waterskin that was offered, because he was parched – only to find his fiancé by his side, offering the refreshment. And with him, his father, the king! Instantly the scene in the council chamber came back to Bilbo’s mind and for a moment he felt the need to apologize for his harsh words. But on the other hand, for half an hour EVERY council member _had_ proven to be stubborn and hard-headed. Even a Maia would have lost his patience there.

So Bilbo was surprised when the king announced, “This certainly looks promising, even when I think that our tools will be used with great difficulty here. Parts of these terraces are very small.” Completely neglecting to mention the embarrassing scene where Bilbo had lost his composure.

Gratefully latching on to that topic, Bilbo explained, “In the Shire we hobbits are neither as tall nor as big as you dwarrows. We have smaller ploughshares and harrows. Maybe we could get some of those …” Looking up at the mountain, Bilbo realized that his plan was bound to fail. They simply didn’t have time to call for tools from the Shire. Determined he decided, “We will make do with what we have! This CAN work. We just need all the help we can get. When a farmer breaks one of his tools he is not helpless, there are other ways, they take a little more time, but you can plough with a rake or a shovel, or …”

Putting his hands on his fiancé’s shoulder, Thorin reminded his hobbit, “Or you can ask someone who has worked as blacksmith in the Shire for a whole summer, to make some for you. Someone who has learned to forge such tools. You could even ask people who are experienced in woodwork, to make the base for smaller ploughshares. I am sure we can find _someone_ with that knowledge inside our mountain.”

With a playful wink the dwarf looked down at his future husband and ducked his head, when his hobbit suddenly looked up at him as if he was Mahal himself. His face aglow with happiness, Bilbo said excitedly, “ _You_ can do this. Fíli and Kíli and you can do this. And if we have enough tools we can work in parallel shifts. And if we can remove the boulders, we can start to root out the thorns and bushes and prepare the fields within a few days.” Latching onto his fiancé’s coat, Bilbo held onto him, clearly excited at the prospect. “We will succeed with this, we really will! With enough tools it wouldn’t take us more than a week and the rye could be planted before a fortnight is over. We would only have to cover the soil so that it won’t get carried away by the wind and we … we can … we can really make it!”

Bilbo had wavered worryingly through his excited speech and when he nearly tumbled over his own feet, when gesturing towards the mountain, Thorin caught him just in time. Soothingly he decided, “We will do this, we can finish everything in time, Bilbo. But ridding these fields of the stones and inspecting the walls does hardly need your supervision. You have to take a break, Bilbo. You explained about the sick soil and provided a solution. Now you need to rest and get over this sickness.”

But stubbornly Bilbo denied, trying to fight his way out of Thorin’s arms. “No. No! I need to help them. This is my responsibility! I have to …”

This time it was the king who interrupted him. He used gentle words, kindly spoken, when ordering, “My son is right, Master Baggins. You clearly need to rest.” When the hobbit tried to protest again, Thráin only raised his hands. “Tomorrow you will have all the help you need. And they will have to get directions from you. So you have to be well fed and well rested by then. Right now you can barely hold yourself upright.”

“But I can’t just …” Bilbo’s reply was weak and defeated. Even he knew that the poison from the earth had seeped into his body, weakening him. It would take time to get rid of it – time he didn’t have at the moment. But Thorin took the decision out of his hands when he whistled for his pony and lifted Bilbo on its back. Thorin trusted his friends to take care of Bilbo’s pony. Ignoring any further protest, Thorin rode off towards the mountain, to get Bilbo into a cleansing bath and fresh and healthy food into his hobbit’s stomach. Maybe a soothing cup of tea would ease the frazzled nerves of his lover.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

When Bilbo realized that his protests would keep being ignored, he folded his arms in front of his chest and started to ignore Thorin in return, pouting. How did this stupid, stubborn, hard-headed dwarf dare kidnap him from his work? Who did he think he was?

‘He’s your fiancé,’ his voice of reason provided. ‘He is worried about you because you are sick. He is taking care of you.’

“I don’t need anybody to take care of me, thank you very much!” Bilbo grumbled angrily.

“Yes, you do. You are sick and you don’t acknowledge it.” Only Thorin’s soft reply made Bilbo realize that he had spoken out loud.

Fighting himself free from his fiancé’s tender embrace, Bilbo snarled, “That’s not your choice to make! Don’t think that just because we are in the mountains, you can make decisions for me. That’s NOT how this will work!”

‘It’s a wise decision.’ Why did his voice of reason sound so very much like his father? Why could he see his kind smile and loving eyes before his inner eye, looking at him like he had done in his youth, when Bilbo had been prone to temper tantrums that were a character trait of his mother’s part of the family?

Thorin didn’t try to put his arms around Bilbo, after the hobbit had freed himself from them. But neither did he turn around and return to the fields where so much work had to be done that Bilbo got dizzy thinking about it.

In the mountain a stable-boy took Thorin’s pony – of course he did, he was the damn prince, he would not brush down his own animal – and the dwarf nudged his fiancé into the direction of their rooms. They briefly stopped in the kitchen, where Thorin asked for a soup and a sandwich to be brought up to them.

Bilbo wanted to protest the ‘mothering’ but before he could say anything, he realized that this would be a stupid thing to do, because he actually was hungry. He had little appetite these days, but not spending every free minute in the bad soil, instead working with green and healthy earth, seemed to have improved his condition. Still he didn’t acknowledge his fiancé in the slightest and made his way up to their rooms.

 

Thorin knew he was doing the right thing, but having Bilbo ignoring him so pointedly pained the dwarf. He constantly had to supress the need to apologize for his actions, even though he knew them to be right. He didn’t want to fight with his future husband, though fighting, he mused, included more interaction between the disputants. For now Bilbo gave him the cold shoulder treatment and he didn’t like it.

As soon as they entered their chambers, Bilbo left for his own rooms. Immediately Thorin followed. “I don’t wish for you to be alone right now. If you want to read or write, I can gather my work and come here. Or you could come to my room and set yourself up in front of the fireplace.”

In a voice that was full of honey-sweet sarcasm Bilbo answered, “Of course, your highness, whatever you wish. If your highness would be amenable, I will take a bath now. Stay or go, I honestly couldn’t care less.” The tone got bitter at the end, and for a brief moment Thorin closed his eyes, reminding himself of the Old Took’s words.

_Tookish blood boils hot and scourging when angered, but it cools down sooner or later. You just have to wait and not take everything to heart my grandson says when he is furious. Your life will be much easier if you keep that in mind._

Thorin got that Bilbo was angry, no, furious was the better word. He felt left alone and belittled by the dwarrows of the council and now by Thorin himself. Getting his hobbit away from the fields and into the safety of their own rooms so that the he could relax and restore his strength was very much needed, considering that they had a lot of work to do tomorrow. Thorin hoped that Bilbo would see this soon, because the angry glares, the pointed ignorance and the sharp words wounded him even when knowing that they were spoken in anger and not from the heart.

He decided to allow his lover some privacy, and left the bathroom where Bilbo was scrubbing away the dirt that had gathered during his boulder-shifting exercise. He would hear it if the door to the other room opened if Bilbo tried to sneak out. Contradicting his belief, Bilbo entered Thorin’s room a little while later, looking freshly bathed and groomed, wrapped in his dressing-gown with soft trousers and a plain shirt underneath.

Everything about his lover seemed more prominent in this light. His wet locks that shone like copper, the golden beads Bilbo hadn’t removed, not even for the bath, shone like tiny rays of sunshine. The white shirt made his pale skin glow unhealthily, emphasizing the deep circles under Bilbo’s eyes that were so dark that they resembled bruises.

The hobbit had just taken up a place on the couch when there was a knock at the door. Rising from his desk, Thorin opened the door, to find his manservant Tamon on the other side, skilfully balancing a tray in one hand, while the other was held behind his back, as he bowed. When Thorin allowed him to enter, he witnessed a polite, no, _friendly_ interaction between his servant and his lover. Obviously Bilbo wouldn’t forget his manners even when having a fight with his partner. Or maybe Thorin was the sole problem. Hanging his head with a sigh, the prince thanked the elderly dwarf and saw him out.

 

Turning around at the door, the other dwarf said, “Master Thorin, if you would allow me a private word.” When Thorin nodded and stepped a little closer, he continued, “My father served your grandfather until the day that Mahal took him from us. I served your father before taking up my duties with you. I have to admit that I feel slightly … confused, as to why you chose another servant for the time being. Not that I don’t think Master Dori perfectly capable of fulfilling these responsibilities, but I believe that – especially with the upcoming wedding – he has a lot to handle. Please forgive me speaking so bluntly, my Lord.”

Thorin smiled at the dwarf he had known since childhood. The choice to replace him for the upcoming month had not been his, but he could understand why Dís thought that the conservative dwarf would have a problem with him and Bilbo being together prior to their wedding. “Tamon, it was never my intention to penalize you in any way. My sister and I just thought it easier for everybody involved if you would resume your duties _after_ Master Baggins’s and my wedding. We wouldn’t want to … confuse you, by … acting inappropriately.”

Why was he suddenly talking as if he was trying to justify his decisions before his father? Maybe because Tamon’s opinion had always been important to him. The dwarf had been his manservant ever since Thorin could remember. His manners were flawless and he accepted nothing but perfection from the young prince. He had been responsible for a big part of his etiquette lessons and his approval had meant a great deal to a young dwarfling who barely saw his sire. Now the elderly dwarf only smiled compassionately.

“I was once young too, my Lord. And I can still remember the first months after being engaged to my late wife, Mahal bless her. I served your father before you, Thorin, and I conveniently turned my head when he was with your mother, prior to their wedding. I can do the same for you, if you wish me to return to my duties.”

Hugging the older dwarf briefly, surprising the servant with the gesture, Thorin decided, “Then I would be glad to have you by my side again, Tamon. Nobody is as skilled or as fast as you.” The gesture was appreciated, because after a moment’s hesitation the other dwarf returned the hug, before taking a step back and bowing deeply, as it was fit for a servant before his master.

Composedly he answered, “In that case we will see each other tomorrow morning when I will bring breakfast for you and your future spouse. Have a good evening, your royal highness.”

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

With a smile Thorin closed the door and shook his head. Looking the other way when his parents … his parents! The dwarf didn’t even want to think about that! His parents were … his parents! They were not supposed to have engaged in … _anything_! Resolutely Thorin shoved that thought away and returned to his desk, only to realize that a plate, filled with deliciously smelling soup and half a sandwich, had been carefully placed on a napkin inbetween his paperwork. Bilbo sat with his back to him, eating the other half of the sandwich with the other half of the soup he had been served. A little relieved, because of the caring gesture, the prince returned to his work after enjoying a late lunch.

For several hours neither of them said a word. Bilbo because he was obviously still angry and Thorin because he didn’t want to evoke his hobbit’s ire again. Being served a meal told him that not everything was lost and that Bilbo surely would get over his anger sooner or later. But still he wasn’t prepared to deal with the sarcastic comments Bilbo had shot at him all through their ride back to the mountain when Thorin had tried to justify his decision. It would be a long evening, that was for sure.

Thorin was thinking about ordering something from the kitchen, so that Bilbo could stay here and rest. The hobbit had fallen asleep on the couch not long after lunch, and had only awoken an hour after tea time. That alone told Thorin that the sickness was truly serious. Bilbo rarely slept through meals. Yet another knock interrupted his thoughts, before he could make a decision.

He heard the pages of the book Bilbo was reading rustling, but still the hobbit didn’t spare him a glance. So Thorin left his desk once again to find out who wanted to speak to him. His entrails turned to ice, when he saw Gentian Longleaf standing on the other side. Yet, ever the polite prince, he bade him to enter, because no matter what was about to happen, he didn’t want anyone witnessing their encounter.

 

Gentian had spent the better part of the afternoon in the seclusion of his own rooms. He wanted to hate these dwarrows. He wanted to detest each and every one of them, because were they not this stubborn and prideful race and HAD they helped three winters ago, his baby sister would have had a chance to make it to her name-giving ceremony. She might have lived and maybe even have learned to walk by now. She would be able to speak and laugh with her siblings and not lie in a shallow grave, with a headstone that didn’t even spell her first name because she hadn’t been given one.

Dwalin had shown him the victims of their king’s pride amongst his own people. The warrior had revealed the one thing, the ONLY thing, that made him WANT to help these people, because the fauntlings, no, the dwarflings – Dwalin’s beautiful, charming little niece – wouldn’t stand a chance otherwise. The little ones couldn’t fight for themselves; they couldn’t even speak up and voice their needs. To allow them to suffer for the mistakes of their fathers simply was wrong.

And then he realized that he had done the exact same thing. He had thrown all the dwarrows into the same pot and had not thought past his prejudice and pride in his plan to get rid of them. The father had failed them and Gentian had taken it out on the son. He still thought them a race that gave too much thought to honour and too little to each other, but he was a hobbit, and Bilbo – oh, how much he hated that thought! – Bilbo had been right. They HAD BEEN raised better than that.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 


	11. An Apology with Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's all in the title.  
> I know this is going to be hard. But it is necessary. For all of them. And don't worry. Everybody is going to get what he deserves. A decent act deserves a decent reaction.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that this chapter is a rather long one. And I honestly wanted to cut it after about 4.000 words. But then it would have ended with Bilbo leaving the room, and that would have been far to depressing. That's not what my story is about. So I extended it a little and I think this is an ending we all can be content with.

So that was the reason Gentian now stood in front of Prince Thorin’s door: having been raised to apologize when he realized he had made a mistake. The guards had shown him the way, as soon as he had made some vague innuendos about wanting to talk to the heir about the state of the fields. When Thorin opened the door, the dwarf’s face had become an emotionless mask. When he bade Gentian to enter, he gladly took the opportunity. Because not only did it sit ill with him that he had to apologize, he also didn’t want to do it on a doorstep where everybody could see them.

Taking a deep breath he entered the rooms of the royal heir and couldn’t suppress a snicker. Of course they were far bigger than his own and furnished with rich sofas and plush armchairs. The floor was covered with soft carpets. But the entire race wore boots. Constantly! They couldn’t even enjoy the softness of the carpets, yet still they possessed the plushest ones Gentian had ever seen.

Tearing himself away from these useless thoughts, forcing his concentration on the task at hand, the hobbit looked at the prince who was leaning against his desk, Bilbo hovering possessively at his side. Honestly, what did Baggins think? That Gentian would somehow try and force, no … seduce this stupid dwarf again? He had learned his lesson and he REALLY didn’t enjoy interacting any more than absolutely necessary with members of that snobbish race, dwarflings withstanding. Yet Bilbo seemed ready to wrap himself around the strong body jealously, though he refrained from actually doing so, and Gentian was infinitely grateful for that.

Two sets of eyes – one brown, alight with distrust, one a pale blue, absolutely emotionless – zoned in on him and made him speak as fast as possible. Bowing, Gentian said, “Thorin, I came here to apologize. When realizing that a hobbit was planning to get involved with a dwarf, all the animosity and hatred I had developed for your race ever since Fell Winter, rose to the surface. I wished to spare a fellow hobbit close affiliation with you and acted indecently as a consequence. Yet I have come to realize that the wrong decision of not helping us was made by your father alone. I still detest him for it, but I should not have taken out my anger on his son. What I did was uncalled for and wrong. I am very sorry for that, and I offer my sincere apologies.”

The second time around, Gentian bowed in earnest and when he looked up again, he could see the surprise on Bilbo’s face. It seemed that his apology came as unexpected for the others as the need for it had come to him. But this was right, he knew it.

Thorin’s face was still composed. The dwarven prince merely nodded gracefully and answered in a composed voice, “Thank you, Master Longleaf. Your apology is accepted.”

Bilbo’s soft voice, asking him to leave, dragged Gentian out of his thoughts moments later. It should not have been so easy to do this. He had insulted the dwarf, had hurt and humiliated him. Yet Thorin’s face had betrayed no emotion when he nodded, accepting the apology, and with that the matter was obviously closed for him. Bilbo’s low request to close the door behind himself made him aware that he remained standing in the middle of the chamber, unsure of what to do next. For the first time since the summer, Gentian saw the shimmer of a smile on Bilbo’s face, when he looked at him. So, grateful for the easy-going attitude of the prince, the hobbit departed.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

Taking a deep breath, Bilbo turned towards Thorin fully once they were alone. When Gentian had entered, Bilbo had stepped close to his fiancé, their former dispute forgotten. He had allowed himself but one simple touch: his hand on the small of Thorin’s back. A hand that now felt like its bones were about to break, because his lover had latched onto it mere moments into the interaction. The dwarf hadn’t shivered. No outward emotion had betrayed his inner turmoil. But ever since Gentian had entered, the Thorin’s fingers had turned cold and he had enclosed Bilbo’s hand in a vice-grip, as soon as he had offered it, as if it was a lifeline!

How dare he? How dare Dwalin allow this to happen to Thorin without the slightest warning? He was the prince’s guardian! He was responsible for Gentian! Not that Bilbo hadn’t appreciated the apology. This honestly was the first decent act Gentian Longleaf had committed ever since the summer. But Thorin should not have been forced to deal with it unprepared. Bilbo should have been the one at the door. He should have taken the chance to send Gentian away, or at least make him wait until Thorin was ready for the interaction. But that couldn’t be helped now.

Caressing his fiancé’s icy face tenderly, Bilbo whispered, “He’s gone, Thorin, alright?” When Bilbo gently tried to get his hand back, the first instinct of his lover seemed to be to hold on to it tighter. But at a small noise of distress from him, Thorin realized what he had been doing, that he was most likely hurting his fiancé, so he let go immediately.

Shaking his sore fingers a little, Bilbo tenderly touched his dwarf’s face again and put their foreheads together. Whispering calmingly, “What would you say if I get us dinner, and you take a nice, long, steaming bath? You look cold, Thorin. Can you do that for me? Prepare a hot bath?” When Thorin didn’t react, Bilbo pulled him in, closing his arms around the taller male, hugging him tightly. After a heartbeat, his fiancé returned the embrace, clinging onto Bilbo desperately. Gentian should never have been allowed to enter the sanctuary of their rooms. For a long while Bilbo just stood there, even when he felt the cold skin of his lover under his fingertips, knowing that he had to warm him up somehow.

When Thorin shivered, Bilbo pulled away. Reluctantly Thorin let go. Even when cupping his dwarf’s cheek, Bilbo was unable to make Thorin look into his eyes. The gaze of his lover was firmly glued to the floor. Running out of options for the moment, Bilbo whispered again, “A hot bath. Can you do that?” Finally Thorin nodded and stepped away, entering the bathroom as if in trance. When Bilbo heard water running he dashed out.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

Bilbo had thought himself furious when being pulled away from the fields by his meddling fiancé, but it had been nothing compared to the icy furnace that was now burning in his stomach. How could he? How dare he? Dwalin was RESPONSIBLE for Gentian. He should have made sure that the hobbit and his dwarf were never, EVER in the same room! Least of all in THEIR rooms, the only place in the mountain where Thorin should feel absolutely safe! Yet the other hobbit had come to Thorin’s chambers, knocking at their door like it was the most natural thing to do, and of course Thorin had allowed him to enter.

The last time the two of them had met, Thorin had had a panic attack. And he didn’t seem to be much better at the moment. The only difference was that this time his stomach hadn’t been full, so he hadn’t thrown up. But he obviously was in shock, so he needed something hot to ease his nerves. A hot tea would do him good, a suitable amount of alcohol in it would surely help. Bilbo tried to concentrate solely on the task at hand, because he was afraid that he might lose his composure and rant at the first person he met, just because he could barely hold his emotions in check. This was clearly not his best day since coming to the mountains.

His fear to snap at the wrong person proved needless, because it turned out that the ‘first’ person he met deserved his anger! Dwalin entered the corridor that led to the royal chambers, good natured and laughing with the two princelings by his side. All three stopped in their tracks when facing a hobbit whose eyes were blazing with anger. They swallowed and shuffled uneasily, because each and every one of them had been on the receiving end of the icy glare Bilbo was dishing out now.

His words were uncharacteristically low and insistent when he ordered, “Fíli, Kíli, go to your room, please.”

Without a second thought, both dwarrows obeyed, obviously relieved that they were not the target of Bilbo’s anger. Dwalin didn’t look too happy to stay behind, especially not when the hobbit started in a low tone, “Do you know who just graced Thorin with a visit? Gentian Longleaf. The charge you were supposed to take care of. The one person who was to be kept as far away from my fiancé as possible!

“He came to the very person he had touched indecently to apologize for his actions. That in itself is an honourable thing to do, and maybe Thorin would have appreciated it, had not the sudden appearance of his defiler thrown him completely off balance.” With a strained breath to keep it together and NOT make a scene by shouting in the middle of the royal wing, Bilbo continued lowly, “You promised me, _promised_ me, Dwalin, that I would never, _ever_ find those two in the same room.

“I am aware that the incident in the Shire was a misfortune. But today it was nothing but you neglecting your duty. I thought you were the prince’s guard, responsible, actually _caring_ for his well-being. Well I have news for you: currently you are doing one hell of a bad job! I am really, really disappointed in you. Can you imagine how it would have been for Thorin, had he been alone when Gentian arrived? How he might have felt when facing the person who …”

Unclenching his fists, Bilbo forced himself to take a step back, because during his vicious accusations, he had stepped up to Dwalin threateningly. Not that a hobbit could be very threatening to a dwarf who had at least a head on him and was twice as broad. But still Dwalin had retreated and his face was pale as a sheet when hearing about the occurrences of the afternoon.

Shaking his head, eyes shining with terrible disappointment, Bilbo whispered, “You know, an apology might even have helped Thorin to find conclusion. But the way it was thrown at him … I am afraid to say that he didn’t receive it all that well. I will now go to the kitchen to order a light dinner and a pot of tea. I would really appreciate it if there were no more unexpected visitors tonight. Do you think you can manage at least that, Dwalin?”

 

The dwarven warrior looked like a beaten dog. All through Bilbo’s hushed but no less forceful berating, he had shrunk in on himself. What had he thought? How could he have left Gentian on his own? He had thought that he had understood something very important about the hobbit, and the other way round too. Dwalin had wanted to give the little one time to come to terms with his new situation here: accepting the gratitude that not only Dwalin, but every mother of a young dwarfling would give him, if his idea with the fields would work out. The sentence was not lifted, but understanding each other was a big step towards a successful working relationship.

Dwalin would never have thought that the hobbit would betray him like that by …

Shaking his head, slumping against the wall after Bilbo had passed him by, the dwarf corrected himself. Gentian had not betrayed him. For the first time ever since meeting the dwarrows in person, he had actually done a decent thing. He had apologized for his actions and under any other circumstances that actually WOULD have helped. Yet – with Dwalin not having asked Thorin if he was alright with meeting the person who had forced himself on him – he had spectacularly blown it. Thorin would never berate him for it, because he thought himself stronger than being beaten down by his emotions. But Bilbo had done it, and rightfully so.

By Mahal, how could he ever make this up to his friend and their hobbit? Bilbo was right! He had done a shitty job when it came to Gentian. He had not kept his charge safe when sending him here. He had allowed him to become sick and, worst of all, starved and now he had not even been able to keep his PROMISE to keep his prince and his desecrator apart.

With a deep sigh, he pushed himself from the wall to speak to the dwarrows who guarded the royal wing. Usually they were here more for ceremonial purposes than actual protection (the Blue Mountains were a peaceful territory so far), but from now on they would know that a certain hobbit would NOT be allowed into the royal wing, except when Bilbo Baggins, or a member of the royal family, gave his permission.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

When Bilbo returned to their chambers, he held a bottle of strong liquor and two glasses. After a brief consideration he had opted for alcohol instead of tea, because he assumed Thorin would need it tonight. A light meal would be brought up as soon as Bombur had it ready. He hadn’t asked Bilbo why he had demanded the liquor, partially because he knew the hobbit not to be an excessive drinker, but also mostly Bilbo seemed positively murderous even when his words and gestures were forcibly polite.

As soon as he had entered, Bilbo allowed himself a substantial sip from the brandy. Feeling a little more at ease he approached the bathroom to take care of his fiancé. But what he saw there made him freeze all over again. Thorin stood at a basin, scrubbing his hands and arms furiously, while the steaming tub was nearly overflowing. From the looks of it, the upper part of his body had experienced the same treatment as his arms, because the dwarf’s skin was red and a little scratched.

“Thorin?” Even when Bilbo’s tone was gentle, the dwarf whipped around as if he had been shouted at. Yet he returned to his frantic cleaning, as soon as he recognized his fiancé. After switching off the water flow for the tub, the hobbit approached his dwarf cautiously. “My sweet, what are you doing?”

Shaking his head in stubborn irritation, Thorin didn’t look at Bilbo when explaining, “I just wanted to wash away the dirt so that I would not soil the water.”

Forcing back his tears, because it really wouldn’t help if he and Thorin lost it at the same time, Bilbo gently pried the rough washcloth from the dwarf’s hand, saying softly, “I think you did a good job. Now let’s get you warmed up, shall we?”

Having already taken a bath earlier that day, Bilbo merely guided his dwarf to the steaming water, taking care that he was safely latched to the edge, before fetching his comb. Spreading Thorin’s silky hair over the frame, Bilbo started to part the strands and brushing them tenderly. This act usually calmed them both, but today it the desired effect wouldn’t come.

 

Though Thorin held stock still as long as Bilbo was working on his hair, he resumed his fierce scrubbing as soon as the hobbit let go.

When his fiancé was gone for a little while, after having tamed his entire mane, Thorin paused his frantic movements, to listen to what Bilbo was doing. He could hear the whispers of cloth against cloth and fur, so the hobbit was preparing Thorin’s bed.

Tempted to submerge himself, because he really didn’t want to face what was about to come, Thorin called himself stupid. Of course Bilbo would want him to sleep in his own bed tonight. The interlude with Gentian had brought Thorin’s dishonour to the forefront of Bilbo’s mind again.

The dwarf felt horrible, stained in a way that went deeper than skin and no amount of scrubbing would clean it away. Needless to say that he had no place by the side of his pure hobbit.

Thorin hid his face in his hands, forcing back desperate sobs that threatened to surface when he thought about being left alone. Everybody had left him, one would think that he was used to it by now. His mother had died and he had not been strong or skilled enough to save his grandfather. Thrór had fallen to the dragon-sickness and died not long after that in the battle of Azanulbizar. His brother had died there too, defending their father. His sister’s husband has lost his life as well.

The only merit were the lives he had been able to save by taking up the duties of a king, when his father had been unable to do so. Yet during their travels they had starved and the land that had been given to them by the rightful owners of these mountains had grown poisonous and sick. So this was his punishment for all the wrongs he had committed. Regarding all the lives he had lost it seemed rather mild, even when the thought of losing his hobbit too tore Thorin apart.

When Bilbo returned, Thorin forced himself to keep it together. He wouldn’t embarrass himself or his fiancé by losing it in front of him. For now his hobbit was by his side, and even if that would not remain so, Thorin was determined to savour every moment he was given. So when his fiancé bade him to exit the tub, the dwarf did so dutifully. If Bilbo didn’t think him stubborn, prideful or headstrong, maybe he would stay with him a little longer. It really was all he could do.

As expected, he found his bed prepared and even when there was a meal on the table, he had no desire to eat. Bilbo surely would take care of it later, maybe he should put it into the oven in Dís’ former little kitchen. On the other hand, his hobbit would surely not stay with him for very long, and the clay pots that held the meal would keep it warm enough for him.

Climbing into the bed, Thorin chose a place in the corner by the ventilation slots. Pulling up he legs to his chest he caught glimpses of the starless night outside of the Blue Mountains. He didn’t feel the cold stone pulling the last warmth from his body, because truly, he barely felt anything at this very moment. Breathing deeply he closed his eyes, listening to Bilbo’s every move, treasuring the knowledge of him being there.

 

Shouting … shouting would be good. Smashing things was another excellent option, in Bilbo’s mind. Honestly he would prefer EVERYTHING over having to watch his fiancé in this state of shock. Thorin’s reaction to Gentian’s presence in the Shire had been violent. He had vomited into his grandfather’s plant after spotting the other hobbit at lunch. Now his lover seemed completely withdrawn. He barely reacted to Bilbo’s touch, only demands seemed to reach him, because he obeyed every order without question.

The hobbit wanted to wrap himself around Thorin, to hug him close and promise to keep him safe. But the dwarf seemed barely able to tolerate his touch, so giving in to this desire would do more harm than good. Instead of relaxing when having his hair combed, Thorin had remained rock-stiff, and when Bilbo had asked him to emerge from the water he had even taken a step to the side, to avoid coming in contact with him. So all Bilbo could do was to pick up one of his quilts, nudging Thorin away from the wall and enveloping him with it.

Deciding to serve dinner, because a hot meal could never be wrong, Bilbo approached the bed with the food and the bottle, only to have Thorin push the tray away. But this time Bilbo was insistent. “Thorin please, you have to eat something. Just a little bit, for me, yes?” The hobbit couldn’t identify the look his lover was giving him, partially unbelieving and partially desperately hopeful. But before Bilbo could ask about it, the dwarf picked up the bowl and started to sip the soup.

When a shiver ran over Thorin’s frame, Bilbo crouched a little closer, and even when he was strictly against eating in bed, he gave in and took his own bowl with him, in favour of being closer to his future spouse. Bilbo just sat down in front of his fiancé, with his back to the wall, enjoying the evening breeze while spooning his meal. His dwarf seemed terribly tense, and more often than not forgot to eat. But every time Bilbo tapped his adorable dainty feet, drawing the dwarf’s attention to his food with a gesture, he continued his meal.

It took them far longer than usual but Thorin relaxed a fraction, whenever the hobbit was touching his skin. He tensed up again when Bilbo rose, carrying away the empty bowls, only to return with their refilled glasses. As before Thorin took it dutifully and when Bilbo resumed his position on the bed, he stretched his legs the tiniest bit, so that his toes were touching the hobbit’s bottom.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Bilbo’s question was nothing more than a faint whisper, but he wanted to give Thorin the chance to get it off his chest. Yet – as expected – the dwarf only shook his head and nursed his drink, avoiding eye-contact altogether. So the hobbit remained silent as well, and between occasional sips he gently petted Thorin’s feet. For now this seemed to be the only contact Thorin could tolerate.

Sharing half a bottle between them, Bilbo finally admitted to himself that nothing would come of this. At least nothing but getting them drunk. Bilbo gently took the glass away from Thorin and carried the dinner-tray into the corridor.

When the biggest mess of the day was cleaned away, clothes, papers and books back to where they belonged, the hobbit urged his dwarf to lie down, before seeing to his evening rituals like brushing all of his hair and stripped down to his smallclothes. He suspected that Thorin would need a lot of skin-to-skin contact tonight.

 

Huddled into a tight ball, Thorin lay hidden under his covers. So this was it. The evening was at an end and not only had he angered his fiancé in the afternoon, he would now have to sleep alone because of the ever-lasting shame he had brought upon himself by accepting another’s touch. Not even a candle was lit, only a banked fire illuminated his chamber. How he wanted to rise and crawl into Bilbo’s bed! But after everything that had happened he felt undeserving. Bilbo had not even put his braids back in. He didn’t need any more proof that the hobbit was thinking about the fateful afternoon, unable to forget what had happened.

So Thorin was confused when he felt the mattress dip behind him, a solid weight suddenly behind him. When he felt Bilbo’s hand on his shoulder he flinched instinctively, not expecting the soft touch. He wanted to turn around, wanted so desperately to wrap himself around his hobbit, inhale as much as possible of Bilbo’s lavender and sunshine smell, even when the earth part of the fragrance was still off. But he felt unworthy of his fiancé’s comfort. He could have stopped all of this, simply by turning around when Gentian had first touched him. But now it was too late, he was tainted and he would never sentence his beloved hobbit to the same fate.

So they lay together for several long moments. The fire was slowly dying and the darkness was swallowing Thorin’s chambers. At least he was not alone. His hobbit had not left him alone, even when he lay silent behind him. Thorin felt his body shake with relief that his fiancé had not abandoned him. He even felt Bilbo’s small hands on occasion, touching his shoulder, his back, stroking his hair. It made him relax gradually, just a tiny fraction with each touch, but it helped nevertheless. That’s why he nearly shattered when Bilbo suddenly mumbled, “Alright, this is stupid and WON’T do!” before sliding out of their bed.

Thorin only dared to turn around when he heard the door to his rooms close. He wanted to run after Bilbo, but he knew that he never could. His hobbit had left him and he could only hope that tomorrow would be better.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

Bilbo could hardly breathe when lying behind a stiff Thorin. Everything he did, all the endearments he whispered, all the little touches he allowed himself remained unheeded. Thorin kept his back to him, tense and occasionally shivering because of his distress. This would not do. Suffering was one thing, but this was torture. Self-inflicted torture, because Bilbo was well versed in reading his future husband by now. Thorin felt himself undeserving of any comfort Bilbo could offer, and wouldn’t even allow himself any restful sleep.

Hitting him over the head would be a possible course of action. Shouting at him how very stupid he was, was another. But Bilbo felt that both methods lacked a certain something, the something that would make Thorin wake up from his state of shock, making him see that he was still appreciated, still liked, still lovable. And Bilbo knew exactly how his lover would get that.

 

It was not that late, so he had no qualms about knocking at Fíli and Kíli’s door. He could only hope that they both still resided in Fíli’s bed. He didn’t want to leave Thorin alone for too long, well aware that he was beating himself up about Bilbo walking out on him. His prayers were answered when he heard a worried voice, bidding him to enter.

When he stepped into the room, he found Thorin’s nephews, sitting in front of a dying fire, like they had done in Bag End whenever they were worried. Though it was warm, they were wrapped into … wait, was that one of his quilts? Little thieves! He knew that this particular item had lain on the backrest of his sofa only this afternoon. On the other hand, he had more pressing problems than a nicked quilt at the moment.

Fíli and Kíli were obviously aware of Bilbo’s problems, because as soon as the hobbit entered they were upon him, looking into his eyes with worry, asking in a hushed whisper, “What is wrong with uncle? Does it have something to do with that dreadful hobbit? Are you angry with Dwalin because of him? Please, Bilbo, tell us what is wrong. Is there anything we can do?”

Like most of the times, when they were in great distress, Fíli was serving as mouthpiece for the two of them, while Kíli was clinging onto his brother’s frame anxiously. Bilbo was not surprised that they had figured out what his dispute with Dwalin had been about. But he didn’t want to discuss this now. He needed them, and not for talking.

So he softly begged, “Could you prepare for bed and then come with me, please? I … _Thorin,_ needs you.”

Confused but willing nonetheless, they hurried to remove everything but their smallclothes and went through their evening-routine in a hurry. Within moments, they stood in front of Bilbo again, squeaky clean, but still visibly concerned. The hobbit gestured towards the abandoned quilt and Kíli dashed to retrieve it, before they followed Bilbo to Thorin’s room.

When they entered their uncle’s chamber, taking in the huddled form beneath the mattress, Fíli and Kíli only shared a look, before approaching the bed.

Fíli was the first to climb in, crawling around his uncle’s frame, settling himself between the dwarf and the wall.

Kíli was next, sliding between the covers, holding them up for Bilbo.

The hobbit smiled gratefully and spread the reclaimed quilt over the bed, before taking Kíli’s offer, putting himself to rest between a warm and a freezing dwarven body.

 

Thorin was downright overwhelmed by the sudden presence of his nephews in his bed. From all the things he could have imagined Bilbo doing – leaving him alone to sleep in his own room being the most likely of them – he would never have thought that his lover would call upon his nephews. But now he was crowded between several warm bodies. When Fíli squeezed himself between Thorin and the wall, the dwarf had no other choice than to move back, right into the smaller body of his hobbit.

When Thorin didn’t turn towards his fiancé immediately, Fíli nudged him gently, time and time again until his nephew’s body lay plastered against his backside, and Thorin was looking at his hobbit. Without a single word, Bilbo opened his arms, silently inviting Thorin to claim his usual resting place. Within moments all four lay intertwined with each other, Kíli reaching for his brother’s hand over Bilbo and Thorin’s bodies, nuzzled into the other side of their hobbit.

When Thorin started to shake, because he felt overwhelmed when being surrounded by so much love and care from his family after everything that had happened, nobody mentioned it, they all just hugged him closer. And if Bilbo’s chest got wet by his shaky breaths and silent tears, the hobbit chose to ignore it, in favour of gently trailing his fingers through his lover’s dark hair, caressing him tenderly, until Thorin finally managed to fall asleep.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 


	12. Support from all sides

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a quite horrible afternoon and evening, support comes from all sides for our beloved hobbit.  
> So being strong for his loved ones really pays off, because they support him in return.

The first ray of sunshine woke Thorin from his slumber, but he was too tired to rise. He felt as if he had not slept at all, and for a moment, he wondered how this could be. He had rested exceptionally well ever since returning to the Blue Mountains with Bilbo by his side. Then he felt an elbow in his back, and when he turned around, he found Fíli huddled into a ball, shivering slightly because he was lacking any cover. Instantly concerned, Thorin turned around to pull his nephew to his chest, covering him with blankets and furs.

He smiled when he felt Bilbo shift behind him, following his movements, a small arm sneaking around his midsection. An additional arm moved over his side, reaching for Fíli’s hand. Only when the said hand was found, the movement stilled.

Fíli and Kíli were sleeping in their bed. Why where his nephews sleeping in their bed? Within a heartbeat the events of the afternoon came flooding back, overwhelming his mind with the desperation he had felt yesterday. Instantly Bilbo crawled up a little, freeing himself from Kíli’s clasp, rubbing Thorin’s neck soothingly. In nothing more than a whisper he asked, “Thorin, are you alright, my sweet?”

But Thorin could only draw a shaking breath, reaching for his fiancé’s hand and pulling it to his lips, placing the most loving kiss on his hobbit’s wrist. As quietly as Bilbo, he answered, “No, but it is better now. Tell me, why did you get them?”

Hugging his dwarf’s chest, the hobbit admitted, “Because I couldn’t think of another way to reach you. You were in shock when … after what happened. I couldn’t bear it, so I got help. And it did help, didn’t it?”

Turning around, so that he could face his hobbit, careful to keep his eldest nephew under the covers, Thorin tenderly brushed a golden lock out of Bilbo’s eyes. “It did. Thank you, Bilbo. Thank you so very much for being here. I don’t know what I would do without you.”

Relieved beyond compare that his future husband was well again, Bilbo snuggled into him, whispering, “I will always be there for you, I promised, remember?”

Nodding wordlessly, Thorin enveloped Bilbo in a tender hug, before relaxing again. It had been a restless night, they deserved a little lie-in.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

When Tamon entered, after a soft knock, about an hour later, Thorin just gestured for him to put the tray with first breakfast on his desk. If his servant was confused about the princes in Thorin’s bed, he didn’t mention it. He whispered in a low voice, when the prince gave no indication of going up, “I will bring up second breakfast in about an hour.”

Gratefully Thorin nodded towards his servant, before relaxing again. His hobbit was stirring, lying splayed over his lover’s chest. Fíli had tried the same approach a few minutes ago, but settled on putting his head on Thorin’s shoulder, when he found his uncle’s chest occupied. Kíli lay plastered to Bilbo’s back, snoring slightly. Despite all the lives he had lost, he was still blessed with the most wonderful family. Sighing deeply, Thorin thought that he really didn’t need hot tea for first breakfast, second would do nicely.

When Tamon entered the second time, Fíli and Kíli were crawling out of bed. Bilbo was currently seeing to Thorin’s braids in the bathroom, so the two princes were left alone with the second breakfast. When Kíli tried to nick a fresh roll out of the basket, the servant slapped his fingers. In an indignant voice he said, “Of course his royal highness will dress properly, before seeing to breakfast. Both royal highnesses in fact,” he added, when he found Fíli attempting the same as his brother, only behind the servant’s back.

Pouting Fíli and Kíli hung their heads and left the room. Bilbo laughed lowly, upon entering, complimenting the dwarf, “I’m impressed, Master Tamon. Table-manners are something I have tried to drill into their heads for the entire summer.”

“Tamon will be sufficient, Master Baggins. And I have to say that you have achieved a lot from my point of view. I have not seen them throw a single roll ever since returning from the Shire.” The dwarf gave a respectful bow when sharing his opinion, pleased when Bilbo held up his cup to be served tea. The hobbit was truly a delightful person to work for, with flawless manners and incredibly polite.

Inhaling the fragrance of the tea, Bilbo offered, “In that case ‘Bilbo’ should do as well. And of course they are not throwing food, that would be most disrespectful and I would never have that. But I have to admit it took me a few weeks to get them to leave my pantry alone, mostly, by threatening to withhold dessert.” The hobbit winked good-naturedly at the dwarf and was a little taken aback when the servant answered.

“I would never allow myself to address the royal consort in such an inappropriate manner. Master Baggins is the only title suitable, for now. But I am very pleased that the royal highnesses have found somebody who has been able to hold them in check. We all were very worried about them during the summer.” With a deep bow towards his master, Tamon offered another cup of tea to Thorin, before distributing the meal. Only when Fíli and Kíli returned, did he allow himself to retreat.

After a few moments of silent eating, Bilbo asked, “Thorin, was I disrespectful towards Tamon in any way?”

The prince raised his head and thought about the conversation he had overheard before deciding, “Not at all, what makes you think that?”

“Because he insists on calling me ‘Master Baggins’. I know the others do it too when we are out in the open, but we are among ourselves here. I don’t understand why he insists on the formal address,” Bilbo worried.

With a smile Thorin touched Bilbo’s hand comfortingly. “Tamon has been my manservant for many years. He is a traditionalist among the dwarrows of the Blue Mountains. He is flawless in his behaviour and knows everything that there is to know about etiquette. What he does is polite and proper for the royal consort. And I can assure you, Bilbo, he does like you. Otherwise he would not have shared his thoughts about Fíli and Kíli with you.”

Relieved by the information, Bilbo distributed the remaining food between the Durins, because he still lacked appetite, only to be forced to prepare two rolls of honey for himself, safely wrapped into a napkin and stashed away into a small bundle, which he would bring to the fields. Bilbo needed to eat to regain his strength and if he couldn’t eat his fill in one meal, the Durins would make sure that he had at least seven of them, distributed evenly over the day, at least until he looked healthy again.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

The big hall in the heart of the mountain was buzzing with excitement. Immediately after second breakfast, lots of dwarrows had found their way there, exciting, mistrustful or simply curiously waiting for the hobbit. The first Councillor and the King’s Information Officer had spread the word that his highness expected as many of them as possible to support the hobbit in the fields.

Dwarrows doing fieldwork, who had ever heard of that? Sure, some of them tended the fields at their doorstep, but how well that had worked out could be seen. They had starved for two winters, until the king had finally given in and asked for the Shire’s help. Now they had food, but only at the price of a hobbit marrying their prince. The heir of Durin bound to a hobbit, imagine that!

“There are so few of them …” Bilbo looked into the hall with worry. “We need more, a lot more, Thorin.”

Yet his fiancé put his hand on Bilbo’s shoulder in quiet support. “They don’t know what to expect. More will come, Bilbo. I promise.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Bilbo squared his shoulders and stepped into the hall. For a moment the chatter got all the more excited, before it died down. Bilbo realized that Thorin, as well as Fíli and Kíli had taken a position at his back. If he didn’t command authority, the Durins surely did. Taking a deep breath, the hobbit started his explanation of what needed to happen.

“It is decided that your fields will be relocated to a zone that is far more promising than the current location. There is a vast area behind the small wood at the northern side of your borders. The mountain terraces might be an unconventional place for agriculture, but the soil is rich and fertile. There is a small well at the top and with Yavanna’s, and of course your help, we will be able to prepare them for seeding within a week. We will bring out winter-rye and with a richly earth, next year’s harvest will exceed this year’s by far.”

Looking at the dwarrows behind his back, encouraged by their smiles, Bilbo continued, “Of course your equipment and methods are a little difficult to apply there. But Thorin, as well as Fíli and Kíli have been able to gain experience over the summer on how to make the appropriate tools. Is there a smith or a woodworker among you?”

There was a lot of noise, but nothing happened. Bilbo’s shoulders slumped because no one was speaking up. After a few moments however, an old dwarf stepped forward. “With all due respect, Master Hobbit, I want to voice my doubts that the royal highnesses will do a lot of good in a woodworker’s shop.”

Smiling, because at least somebody had dared to come forth, Bilbo approached the dwarf. The hobbit looked at his wise face and worn hands. This one had worked in his trade for longer than even his grandfather had been alive. Hobbits were open and friendly people, known to give people a chance, even without knowing them. For the dwarrows it was different: it was difficult to trust two younglings who – let’s be honest – didn’t have the best reputation in working in _any_ trade.

Bowing deeply, the hobbit conceded, “You may be right, Master dwarf. But my cousin, who took up his father’s woodworking shop some twenty years ago, didn’t have any problems with Fíli and Kíli. They helped him through the entire summer, lending him a hand with his orders AND with his newborn fauntlings. Falco Chubb-Baggins and his wife Amanda were singing their praises ever since their first day.”

Looking up at the young princes with disbelief, the woodworker asked in awe, “She allowed them to care for her babies?”

Smiling because he knew that he had won, Bilbo added, “They even changed their nappies on their very first day.”

Approaching the princes with a respectful bow, the woodworker declared, “Your highnesses, I would be honoured to work with you.”

 

Feeling a little downcast because of this more or less open vote of distrust, Fíli and Kíli had done their best to remain composed. It was sad to go from taking care of babies to not being trusted with wood. Not that they could hold it against their fellow dwarrows. They were known as nothing but mischief makers in the mountains. Lessons and training were boring, no challenge for them. So they had invested their energy in playing pranks; something that had changed over the summer, but nobody knew it yet.

When Bilbo spoke up and gave them a vote of confidence, the allowed themselves a small smile. And when the woodworker bowed to them and invited them to his workshop, they positively beamed. Following in an excited chatter, sharing their experience in the Shire, they didn’t see their mother, standing at the side, surrounded by a vast number of lady-dwarrows, looking after them, full of pride.

 

As soon as the woodworker was gone, another dwarf came forth. Looking first at the hobbit and then at their prince, he bowed deeply before announcing, “I am Blain, tools-master of the Blue Mountains. If your royal highness can teach me how to make the tools necessary for ploughing the fields, I would be honoured to work with you.”

Sharing a quick glance with his hobbit, who nodded encouragingly, Thorin approached the other dwarf and invited him to lead the way to his forge.

After another deep breath, Bilbo looked at the remaining dwarrows. “Alright, now that the tools are in the process of making, who will come with me, to help clean the fields of stones and weed?”

Bilbo’s heart sank again, when nobody dared to step forth. He couldn’t make them, he knew that much. But he also knew that he would not succeed on his own. Not even with the help of his friends. The area was too extensive. He raised his head hopefully, when he heard commotion at the back of the room.

Unbelieving, he watched as the crowd parted and Dís approached him, surrounded by a large number of dwarrows without any armor, with made-up eyes, and several children by their side. Putting a hand on Bilbo’s shoulder, Dís explained in a loud voice, so that every last dwarf in the hall would hear her, “Here are all the lady-dwarrows and older children who could afford to take the day off or pass on their duties to others. We might not be as strong as our male counterparts, but we are able to clean away small debris and weed the fields. We would be delighted to be of service.”

“Dís, I …” Overwhelmed by the unexpected support, Bilbo hugged his future sister-in-law and thanked every lady-dwarf within his reach personally.

But swiftly the joyous atmosphere was tampered, when a dwarf stepped up to the dwarrowdams and hissed, “You can NOT bring our women and children to these fields without any protection. Who knows what will happen?”

Bilbo and Dís were about to give this dwarf an earful, when a red-haired lady-dwarf from their side stepped up to the grouch. In a cold tone, she decided, “Well, I am sure you know the perfect solution for that, Northri, son of Suthri: you will gather your brothers, and accompany us to the fields. This way you can actually HELP somebody instead of causing trouble!”

The dwarf in question stammered something unintelligible, but quickly folded under the heated glare of the dwarf-lady.

Nobody else dared to offer another opinion and Dís urged Bilbo to take the lead and guide them to the fields.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

This time Bilbo had insisted on leaving his pony behind, in favour of walking with the women. Many of them were eager to hear about the ‘sick earth’ and how a relocation of the fields would make things better. They took their time and wandered for nearly half an hour.

When they finally arrived at the mountain terraces, Bilbo climbed the first step to explain what had to be done. Bifur and Bofur where already at the topmost terrace making minor repairs to the wall. Dwalin and Gentian were removing boulders and cleaning away weed, as were the Ri brothers. When the hobbit turned around, he was completely taken aback by the company he had gathered.

While he had seen no more than fifty dwarrows in the big chamber a few minutes ago, there were now more than one hundred looking up at him. And he hadn’t even counted the women and children. He looked at Dís with immense gratitude. Obviously the princess knew how to motivate her people.

Thinking about how harvesting worked in Hobbiton, Bilbo started by dividing the dwarrows into several groups. Each one of them had a few women and one or two extremely strong looking males. The hobbit noticed that at least the male dwarrows and several females as well were carrying weapons in addition to their tools. He decided not to question their need for arms in their own kingdom. Remembering their history he could even understand them. They had children by their side, nobody was willing to keep them unprotected.

When every team had been assigned a level, they started their work. The sun was slowly climbing higher and before Bilbo could climb the steps to talk to Bofur and Bifur, Dís caught him red-handed and ordered him to sit and take a break. She placed several wrapped biscuits and a bottle of water into his hands, before going back to her group, explaining how to best get rid of the weed.

Realizing that it was close to elevenses, Bilbo took the food and even pulled out his own bread rolls that Fíli and Kíli had prepared for him. He didn’t like to admit it, but he already felt tired. Working on his own was different from having all these people rely on him for support and explanation. He looked up the mountain and realized that Gentian was already dishing out advice, Dwalin looming behind him.

A part of Bilbo regretted the words he had spoken to Dwalin in anger yesterday. But remembering Thorin’s devastation, he couldn’t bring himself to apologize for them. Thorin was too important for all of them to allow Dwalin to slack in his duties when protecting him. At least he hadn’t lashed out at Gentian, because from what Bilbo could see, his fellow hobbit was his usual brooding self, but at least helpful by explaining the weeds and how to best remove them.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

Around midday Bombur arrived in a small pony-driven cart, bringing a big pot. The crews were called down one after another, everybody got a chance to eat and the children were given free time to take a nap in the sun or enjoy some playtime, before returning to their duties. It was still shocking for Bilbo to see how very few children were around. In the Shire at least three to four children per family were the absolute minimum. Here in the Blue Mountains, if a woman called two dwarflings her own, she was considered blessed.

Well, this would change! All of this would change, once these people were eating green and healthy food. After the fields they needed to plant gardens for growing vegetables. Corn alone would not do. And maybe some mushrooms or nuts could be found in the surrounding woods. An orchard would be a great improvement too; these dwarrows surely had too few fruits in their diet.

With a smile, Bilbo tried to clear his head. He was getting ahead of himself. The fields for the corn had to be his first priority. Come spring they could decide how to divide the ground, to keep it healthy and fertile. They had to build up a stock, but after that, they could divide the fields into three parts where every part would be seeded with different corn, vegetables or clover. Agriculture was a tricky business. You could gain a lot but destroy even more if you didn’t take heed of the delicate balance between all things.

Late in the afternoon Thorin came around, carrying a small ploughshare. It only had two blades, but would do nicely along the edges and at the topmost field which was really small. Ready to try it, Bilbo asked Thorin to stay at the bottom, even when his fiancé had announced that he wished to join him. But when following Bilbo’s worried gaze, spotting Dwalin and his charge near the top, Thorin agreed to stay at the bottom. Grateful Bilbo took Thorin’s hand and kissed the palm tenderly. With a smile Thorin stole a proper kiss before approaching his sister, to find out how she and the other women were doing.

Swiftly climbing the steps, Bilbo approached the topmost terrace. This one was barely a meter wide. The hobbit didn’t know if it was suitable for seeding at all, but being cleared rather swiftly it was the perfect ground to try out this new tool. Instantly a tall dwarf who had worked in the fields before was at Bilbo’s side and together they made quick use of the new ploughshare. It turned out that it was working rather well, as soon as an additional weight was added to the bridge.

With a smile Bilbo remembered the days when he had been placed on the tools in the Shire, to make them heavy enough to dig deep into the earth. After reaching his tweens he hadn’t thought that this experience would repeat itself, but here he was, sitting on a piece of wood, while being dragged over the soil by a tall dwarf. Laughing with relief because it worked really nicely, he thanked the other, before walking down again.

This time he didn’t offer any protest when Thorin suggested that he should call it a day. Leaving Dís in charge, Bilbo mounted Thorin’s pony and snuggled into his fiancé, when the dwarf held him around the waist so that he wouldn’t fall off. The trip back to the mountain took considerably less time than the walk to the fields, but Bilbo didn’t mind not having to walk on his own. He felt rightfully tired, and when Thorin suggested that they should take their evening meal in their chambers, Bilbo was all up for it.

Once back in their rooms, Bilbo drew a hot bath for himself, and was surprised when Thorin woke him from it, announcing that dinner was served. Obviously the day had been more tiring for Bilbo than he had thought. He nearly purred in comfort when Thorin started to comb his hair, redoing his braids. After enjoying a relaxing dinner together, Thorin announced that he still had some paperwork to do, but Bilbo could always stay with him if he wanted to.

Deciding that this was a good idea, Bilbo shuffled Thorin’s papers from his desk to the coffee-table beside the sofa, and when the dwarf took his allocated place with a smile, Bilbo put his head in his fiancé’s lap, dozing off immediately. After going over his paperwork, Thorin decided that there was nothing that could not wait for tomorrow. His fiancé had outdone himself today by organizing the work and he, too, was rightfully tired. Apparently he was no longer used to working at a forge the entire day.

So Thorin picked up Bilbo as carefully as possible and carried him to the bed. Helping his future husband out of his clothes, he covered him with the furs and the blanket, before seeing to his own evening routine. When he slid under the covers, putting his head on Bilbo’s chest, he felt lazy fingers trailing through his hair and heard a sleepy voice whispering, “Have I ever told you that I love the fact that you are strong enough to carry me around? So much more comfortable than doing it on my own,” before the hobbit’s breaths evened out, and his hand fell down to Thorin’s shoulders as soon as the last word has left his lips.

The dwarf, however, felt wide awake all of a sudden. Bilbo’s words echoed through his head over and over again, and even when they had been spoken in a sleep-induced haze, Thorin couldn’t help but cherish them with all his heart. It was not a declaration of love. Bilbo didn’t love HIM, but if he loved something ABOUT him, maybe there was hope.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 


	13. Things to do and to discover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everybody is helping to get the fields ready for the winter. It might have taken some time but the dwarrows came around to lend their hobbit a helping hand. Actually, both of their hobbits because Gentian is doing quite alright in this chapter.  
> After that there is a brilliant discovery to be made. At least from Bilbo's point of view.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, finally the explanation of what sickens the fields.   
> Robin_P got it right at the first shot when I mentioned the problem in Chapter 6. Now you can see how very right you are. Enjoy Robin_P :)

Even though Gentian Longleaf took his time working in the fields, it turned out that the grumpy, the highly efficient hobbit did manage to educate the dwarrows in the proper tending of fields. Although he had been a potter in the Shire, it turned out that as a hobbit, he had a natural affinity to the earth and knew by instinct what the soil needed, far better than any dwarf had been able to learn from their books.

So he and Bilbo were working in tandem to deal with the increasing number of dwarrows who arrived every day to help. While on the first day it had been over a hundred, the number had doubled on the second and an additional three to four dozen people had joined them on the third. The mountain surely had to be empty by now. Bilbo had rearranged the work crews to the best of his abilities, dividing them so that each crew had a mix of people who knew what had to be done and newcomers.

Bifur and Bofur had commandeered several of their co-workers to help them with fixing the minor cracks in the walls. After four days of work from sunrise to sunset you could see the clean soil in nearly all of the terraces. Thorin, as well as Fíli and Kíli had worked tirelessly to provide them with the necessary tools. After only five days, Bilbo was able to thank most of the dwarrows for their support and only choosing about seventy people to help with the ploughing.

The dwarrows who usually worked in the fields had gathered their gear and every one of them was given up to four workers to support him. On the morning of the sixth day, Bilbo approached the fields with as many dwarflings as possible. They still needed to weight down the ploughshares to create deep furrows, so that the rye would not be reached by the frost. Even Fíli and Kíli had abandoned their studies – with permission of Dís and Balin of course – and were ready to help.

Being a lot healthier than at the beginning of the week, Bilbo worked tirelessly from first breakfast to sundown, but after just one day, all the fields were ready for the winter rye. Nori and Dwalin had taken it upon themselves to transport the bags to the fields, guarding them jealously.

Seven days after having first laid eyes on the new fields, Gentian and Bilbo stood at the very bottom in the early morning light. Reluctantly the convicted hobbit admitted, “I hadn’t thought that they could make it. If anybody had told me that you could get hundreds of dwarrows to dig through the earth, I would have called him a liar.”

Allowing himself a small smile, because coming from Gentian this was more or less a compliment, Bilbo reminded him, “Well, they are decent people who are willing to do everything for the survival of their kingdom.”

From between clenched teeth, Gentian hissed, “Were they DECENT people, they would have helped in Fell Winter and we still would have the lost members of our family by our side!”

Closing his eyes, fighting down the pain, because Bilbo knew that arguing with Gentian would be useless, he took a deep breath before stating, “The others will be here shortly. Let’s distribute the rye.”

Together with Dwalin and Nori they started to fill big shoulder-bags with the provided corn, mentally calculating how much rye they could afford to seed at each level. More than once Dwalin and Nori shared a confused glance, of why the hobbits decided that three sacks for this level would absolutely do, while at least five bags for the next one would be essential. To them the terraces looked more or less the same. But neither of them wanted to interrupt the hobbits in their planning. When second breakfast was through and the reduced crew was arriving, the hobbits handed out the bags with explicit instructions of how much rye should go to what field.

Taking care of the smaller levels themselves, admitting that trampling the soil with the big boots there would do more harm than good, they worked the whole day to bring out the corn. To finish the last level, they even worked into the night, but they all agreed that it would be worth it and that they could close the furrows tomorrow, so that the rye would be protected. After that it was just watering the fields and waiting.

After taking care of the walls, Bifur and Bofur had taken a look at the well at the very top of their mountain fields. It turned out that it was richer than expected. The outlet was just too small so that a good part of the water was sinking into the mountain before reaching the surface. They had opened the well a little and had piled up stones to create a small water-basin. From tomorrow on, the farmworkers would take care of creating the necessary irrigation ditches.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

After a week out in the fields it had been decided that Bilbo would take a day off. Not by Bilbo himself by any means, but by Dís, Balin and Thorin as well as Fíli, Kíli and Nori. All six of them had explained at length that Bilbo was expected to remain in his quarters and rest. Food would be brought to him, as well as the tailor who he had yet to talk to about their wedding garments. After all there were less than three weeks left before the end of the year and – as the hobbit had been told – it was tradition for the heirs of Durin to get married on Durin’s day.

Giving in to his fate, sighing dramatically, Bilbo took refuge in his living room, going over Dori’s proposal for a suitable place for the celebration. The old fields were suitable, because the area was wide and unused now. But the thought of once more walking over the sick soil held no appeal to Bilbo. Then there was a wide valley inside the Blue Mountains range. From what the hobbit had been told, there was much more to this place than met the eye. There were wide dales between the peaks, mines that went deep underground, which could only be reached when walking to the middle of the mountain range. There were mountaintops that offered a brilliant view over the wide land, and caverns full of gems and veins of metal so beautiful that it took your breath away.

Thorin had promised that he would show the entire area to Bilbo once they had found their footing. But for now too many things needed their attention to take a day off for exploring, even if Thorin spoke particularly fondly of a stream that made its way through the inner valleys. If they searched long enough, they might even find a river bank suitable for … Well, that thought would not do for now, otherwise Bilbo would get nothing done today.

After lunch the tailor arrived, with several suggestions for Bilbo’s and Thorin’s wedding garments. Balin was with him and could only smile when Bilbo decided, “No! Absolutely not! Under no circumstances will I wear a chainmail for my own wedding. If Thorin wants to, he’s welcome to it, but I am a hobbit, for heaven’s sake. Armour doesn’t suit me!”

There was a lot of arguing following Bilbo’s decision, but in the end they found a solution for the hobbit as well as their prince. When Bilbo put on his best waistcoat and overcoat, presenting himself in soft cream-coloured trousers and a white shirt, the tailor looked up and down his small frame approvingly. Within moments the dwarf was at work, sketching up an attire similar to the one Bilbo was wearing, using the fabrics and colours suitable for a spouse of the House of Durin. Solely when it came to the trousers and shirts worn underneath, Bilbo suggested some minor changes, because even if the material suited him, the way the shirts and trousers were all closed with laces was not to the hobbit’s liking. When he suggested a long row of tiny buttons, opaque and dark for Thorin’s trousers, and pearly white for his own, the tailor threw him a knowing look. Yet Bilbo raised his chin defiantly, daring the dwarf to contradict him. Balin – clearly confused by the wordless exchange – looked first at the hobbit and then at the tailor questioningly.

Quickly replacing the laces at the top with a line of buttons, that would go all the way down for the shirts and all the way back for the trousers, the tailor explained, “It seems that the royal consort is not inclined to share the beauty of either himself or his spouse with the community.”

Approving the new design, Bilbo bowed gratefully and added with a smile, “I am willing to honour your traditions, but only to a certain extent. There are things that HAVE to happen, but I am well within my rights to decide the degree of how much I will share with our guests.”

At that the tailor only smiled, because the hobbit was the first one in several generations to ever think about protecting the dignity of his consorts. To everybody else the public claiming was the spectacle of the evening. Yet this small creature had fiercely set his mind to showing off as little of himself and his future husband as possible, and didn’t that make him all the more likeable. Prince Thorin’s wedding was the topic of gossips all through the mountain, yet the tailor had the feeling that they all were in for a surprise on the wedding day.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

Two weeks prior to the wedding, Bilbo had a little more free time on his hands – not counting the hours he had to spend learning the proper words for the ceremony and preparing the wedding gifts for his guests, of course. But every step of the way either Ori or Bombur, sometimes even Dori, were by his side, helping him with bows and phrases, explaining traditions or simply helping him to bind ribbons over silky satchels that held sugar-coated almonds, the traditional wedding-gift in the Shire.

Thorin was mostly caught up in paperwork, so the hobbit used the little free time he had to explore the Blue Mountains. Nori was an endless source of useful and entertaining information. He described the tunnels and mineshafts, the workshops that were set up for the different trades. One day they even went to the forge.

 

The giant furnace and the dozen anvils nearly took Bilbo’s breath away. Hobbiton had found pride in its own small forge, relieved that as long as there was a smith, they didn’t have to travel to the next farthing to get their tools fixed or new pots made. But this … this was enormous!

After a few moments of stunned admiration, Bilbo was given a tour and the different ways of forging metal were explained to him. He found the stream that came in from the top channelled to the different stations. He found basins full of _> alvâm-shulk **[1]**<._ Nori explained to him that this was cleaning water for when a piece of metal had to be purified before being worked upon anew. The chemical compound would make sure that the metal was pure enough for creating weapons that would not break.

A little outside the main area, Nori showed Bilbo several smaller forges. Here the silversmiths and jewellers had their place. Still close enough to work with each other seamlessly, but far enough away from the main forge to not have their raw material tainted by flying sparks of less precious metal. There Bilbo found his friend Bofur, working on a silver bracelet, carefully etching the most delicate flower-petals onto the silver. When Bilbo asked how he was doing it, Bofur explained to him that he was using _> unjùkhudhab-shulk **[2]**<,_ ‘painting water’ to draw on the metal. Every pattern – once etched into the silver – was neutralised with water, so that the plate would not be tainted by unwanted splatter.

When Bilbo saw the streams of water running down from the workbench to a long basin, before going down a drain, he suddenly got an idea where the ‘sick water’ that tainted the fields came from. The dwarrows didn’t think too much of it, because many of them used the water that was clearly polluted by several chemical solutions, to swiftly wash their hands in, and even clean their faces from sweat. When Bilbo put his hands into it and pulled them out after a few moments he found them itching and his skin smelling sharp and unpleasant.

Exhaling with relief, because from now on no dwarf would ever eat food from soil that was tainted by such harsh chemicals, Bilbo urged Nori to leave the forge. He wanted to go out into the open, to enjoy wind and sunshine and clean water on his skin. The thought of wading through earth that was saturated with this stuff didn’t sit well with him.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

After a pleasant afternoon exploring the inner valleys, Bilbo returned to their rooms, giving Nori the chance to see to his own duties, only to find Thorin dozing at his desk. The hobbit was well aware that his lover spent far too much time behind his bureau. In the Shire the dwarf had revelled in the physical exercise of working at the forge. Seeing him here, confined to his rooms, or the throne room or the council chamber all the time, seemed like a prison to Bilbo. Thorin fulfilled his duties, but the hobbit doubted that he was happy this way. When he had asked about it cautiously, Thorin had insisted that all this paperwork was boring but necessary. Looking over the documents, Bilbo discovered them to be reports on the current agricultural situation, with several courses of action of how to proceed. Obviously the future plans of feeding the kingdom were a major concern that involved all kinds of people.

Gently extracting the papers form under his lover’s arms, Bilbo took the bundle and several other folders that were marked with ‘Harvest’ with him and retreated to his own desk, so that Thorin could sleep in peace. Slowly but surely, Bilbo had come to enjoy the homey feeling of his rooms. His last boxes had been unpacked several days ago and all of his books were lining the new shelves of his living-room. The desk was spacious and Ori had presented him with a few new quills.

Picking up a delicate pinfeather, Bilbo tenderly stroked over its shaft, admiring the quality of this tool. Then he concentrated on the reports. Most of them backdated more than a week. Obviously Thorin had had troubles making sense of them. Bilbo however had no such problems, being familiar with the terminology of harvesting, and had basic knowledge of soil compounds. Things he didn’t know he could look up in a few books his neighbour Hamfast had recommended. After more than an hour, when he had gathered an overview over the material, he pulled out a new document and started to outline their contents.

 

When the afternoon went on, Bilbo shivered due to a slight breeze. Looking around in confusion, because there were no ventilation shafts he knew of in this room, he found a tapestry on the wall moving slightly. When he approached it cautiously – because, really, what did he know about what was hidden in these halls? – he pulled it away and gaped at the spacious room behind it in awe.

Though he would never admit it later because he was embarrassed about it afterwards, he gave a shout of delightful surprise, before working excitedly to bring down the cover. “THORIN! FÍLI, KÍLI COME HERE AND HELP ME!” His words surely echoed through the entire royal wing, because within moments all members of the Durin line stood at his back, yes, even the king, and watched in bewilderment how their small hobbit wrestled with the tapestry. The problem was: nobody was sure that the tapestry was not winning, because it didn’t seem to budge from its anchorage.

After a moment, Thorin and his father took it upon themselves to help Bilbo lift up the covers, to unhinge them from their hooks. As soon as they stepped back, their hobbit passed them by and entered the dark room that had been hidden. Excited, he shouted, “By all the gods in Middle-earth, this is a kitchen. A kitchen in my rooms! Why didn’t anybody tell me? Dís! Why haven’t you told me?”

Opening and closing the squeaky hinges, he inspected every nook of a small iron cooker, which stood complete with hot plate and oven on the wide side of the room. Next to it was a big wooden working area, with hooks overhead that could hold pans and pots. On the narrow side, next to the entrance was a sitting-area that would easily hold six persons, seven if another chair was added. Delighted, Bilbo opened the overhead and bottom cupboards only to find them as dusty and empty as the rest.

Coughing due to the dust, the hobbit turned towards Dís. “Why haven’t you told me? I could have cooked here! I could have made tea and scones and cookies. I could have taken care of our own provisioning! This is brilliant!”

Sharing a smile with her family, Dís just shrugged and explained, “Well I am not particularly fond of cooking when there is work to be done. So I covered up the entrance. The windows here are usually very thick and high up in the mountain so that I didn’t have to worry about anybody approaching from this side.

When turning around, Bilbo noticed for the first time that there were wide, dark shutters that covered the wall in two places. There were windows. Windows in his rooms! Windows that would let air and light into his living room. Close to tears with delight, Bilbo watched Fíli and Kíli take it upon them to open them, even when their rusty hinges fought them all the way. When he finally could look up into a clear, starlit night sky, he drew a shuddering breath.

His fiancé enveloped him from behind, whispering into his ear, “I take it that you will prefer to do your own cooking from now on?”

Covering Thorin’s arms with his own, Bilbo could only laugh. “Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy the luxury of Tamon serving us several meals a day and seeing everybody in the dining hall for second breakfast. But to be able to cook and bake, that’s more than I could have hoped for these last few days.”

Inspecting the unused kitchen, Thráin decided, “Then we will get it cleaned and stocked again. Dís had it covered because she didn’t like it, but if you want to use it, we will make sure that it will be fully functional again.”

“We can do it!” Kíli piped up excited, Bilbo’s mood truly was infectious.

“Yes, we can do it! We know how Bilbo likes his kitchen, where everything should go and what he needs. We can make it perfect!” Fíli added, supporting his brother’s offer.

Looking at his grandsons, who had improved so greatly over the summer, Thráin nodded. “Alright, if you can finish your studies in time, Balin will take care that your weapons training is scheduled right before breakfast. You have done well ever since coming back from the Shire. So we will cut down your lessons, to give you entire afternoons to yourself, so that you can take care that Master Baggins has everything organized to his liking.”

Delighted at the prospect of having their boring studies reduced, Fíli and Kíli shared a smirk, before going to work, cataloguing everything about the room that was lacking, while the adults returned to Bilbo’s living room. It was decided that they would go down for dinner together and send something up for Fíli and Kíli. Those two seemed so enthusiastic about their new task that nobody wanted to keep them from it.

The evening meal was quite enjoyable. All the Durins were listening to their hobbit planning animatedly meal after meal, describing the delicious courses with so much love and detail that they nearly got hungry all over again. When Thráin and Dís asked Thorin in a whisper if his fiancé was even versed in such extensive cooking, Thorin simply smiled and winked, “Just wait and see.”

 

Upon their returning to their rooms, Thorin sighed slightly. He had planned on enjoying a calm evening with his fiancé but with dozing off in the afternoon, because honestly five hours of sleep every night barely worked for him, he still had a lot of reports to read. Not that reading them would do him any good – to him all the phrases and words seemed gibberish and most of the time he simply couldn’t grasp their meaning.

So Thorin was wracking his brain how to proceed. He couldn’t make a decision on a whim. Lives were at stake here. Honestly, he would prefer raging wolves over such a huge amount of paperwork any day. When he shared his plans with Bilbo, the hobbit just smiled enigmatically and told him, “Well if you need anything I will be in my rooms.”

After sharing a tender kiss, Thorin sat down on his desk again, looking after Bilbo who departed through their shared bathroom. Picking up the last document he had worked on, slightly embarrassed because the ink was now blotchy in some places because he … never mind. He worked his way through it, only to find the need to compare it to a report he had read earlier this week. When he reached for the folder he found it missing. Confused, because NOBODY took his paperwork from him, no matter how much Thorin wished they would, he started to look under the desk and at the coffee table.

Irritated he walked over to Bilbo’s living-room, only to find his hobbit, bent over several familiar looking papers. “Bilbo, are you … did you take the reports from my desk?”

Smiling up at his lover, Bilbo gestured towards his summaries. “I think I am a little more qualified to judge soil compounds and harvesting times. You have worked on these for an entire week, so I decided to lend you a hand.”

Picking up Bilbo’s synopsis, Thorin looked at his fiancé in awe. “You can … you can really make sense of these?”

Laughing at his stunned dwarf, Bilbo rose form his chair, wrapping his arms around Thorin’s waist. “Yes, I really can. And after giving you up to your paperwork five days out of six last week, I decided that this would not do. You are working yourself to death and that is not necessary, when I am here to help.”

Thorin felt like a huge weight had been lifted from his chest. He had despaired these last few days, because he simply hadn’t been able to draw a sensible conclusion from these reports. So Thorin returned the hug, kissing Bilbo’s golden locks tenderly. “What would I ever do without you, my hobbit?”

“Guess,” was Bilbo’s cheeky reply, before offering his mouth for a kiss. “You, my prince, would be guessing how to proceed. But luckily you have me and now we can finally have an evening to ourselves.”

Hugging his future husband closer, lifting him up a little, Thorin asked in a hushed voice, “And what should we do with our free time?”

Smiling up at his lover, because the hobbit really liked what Thorin was implying, Bilbo trailed his fingers through his lover’s dark strands, suggesting mischievously, “Well, we could go to bed early. I am sure we are in desperate need of a good night’s sleep. Among other things ...”

Before Thorin could approve this plan, a muffled voice from the ‘kitchen’ could be heard. “Please, GROSS. Could you at least wait until Fíli and I am through with the inspection?”

Laughing at the dust-covered Kíli who peeked around the corner, Bilbo only hugged his lover tighter, declaring stubbornly, “First of all, YOU are the last one who has ANY right to judge. And secondly I’ll have you know that I can do whatever I want, whenever I want, with my fiancé, in my own rooms. And if we like to indulge ourselves on this very desk, we will do so!”

With a strangled noise, Fíli emerged as well, deciding that it was high time for him and Kíli to get clean and see to their dinner. Thorin and Bilbo’s laughter followed them to the corridor.

As soon as they boys were gone, Thorin looked down at Bilbo, humming in a low voice. “So … indulging ourselves on this very desk, care to elaborate on that, lover?”

“I might, my sweet,” was Bilbo’s cheeky answer, “I think I might.” And then his mouth was occupied, preventing any further conversation.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

  


* * *

[1] Alvâm-shulk describes caustic soda, which is used for cleaning metal to create steel from it.

[2] Unjùkhudhab-shulk stands for nitric acid that is used to etch fine patterns into precious metal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me and my betareader quite some time to come up with the right "problem" for the fields. After thorough research, mostly through google, I found caustic soda and nitric acid to chemicals regularly used in metal-work. I assume that a race "born from stone" would have little problems with highly deluded solutions of these chemicals.   
> But the earth and the food that comes from it would gather more and more of these chemicals, when it is watered with such solutions for an extended amount of time. And no matter how resilient you are, eating poisonous food year and and year out HAS to have some effects. Even on dwarrows.


	14. Preparations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Preperations for a wedding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tomorrow is the 31st of October. Personally I would have thought it to be the perfect date to post the first chapter of the wedding because, tomorrow exactly 9 years ago, was my wedding day. I know that Halloween seems kind of weird but my husband proposed to me that day, so I thought it convenient date for our wedding as well.  
> I post it today because tomorrow - around 2 p.m. I will pick up my little boy and my husband and we will be off to a short holiday to celebrate our anniversary. I hope to be able to post the actual wedding on Sunday when I return. But I can't promise. Until then, have a great extended weekend and a lot of fun. 
> 
> Oh, and before I forget: Trick or Treat?

“Alright, _alright_ , this is quite enough! Thank you. Thank you very much. I think I can take it from here.” Bilbo sounded exasperated, because ever since elevensies he had been prodded and picked and dragged and pulled and cut and groomed. And those were only the things they had done to his new clothes; he didn’t even want to think about what had been done to his hair and his hands and his feet!

“But, Master Baggins, if you could just allow me one more …”

“No! Out! All of you! I have dressed myself since I was four. I assure you I can manage.”

“But, please, …”

With a frustrated sigh, Bilbo closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. Carefully modulating his voice, he asked as politely as he was able, “Please, Master Dwarf, I am honestly grateful for everything you have done for me. The clothes you have made for me are magnificent and I am sure the same goes for my future husband. But please believe me when I say that I am ready now and that you can leave.”

The tailor had worked for the royal family since before Erebor had fallen, and honestly, he had been amazed that all of his ‘last minute’ customisations had been allowed by the royal consort. But it was understandable that the groom now was at the end of his tether. Allowing himself one last look over the fashionably clothed groom, he bowed deeply and gestured his assistant to go, leaving behind a truly relieved hobbit.

 

Bilbo appreciated the tailor’s work, he truly did. But ever since yesterday, he had had not a single moment for himself. Dís had kidnapped him in the afternoon, deciding that Bilbo deserved an ‘evening off’ prior to his wedding. Truth to be told, the hobbit had been extremely grateful for that. The tradition of not seeing his fiancé on the day before the wedding existed in the Shire too. But an evening with Thorin close by, yet without being allowed to go to him, hadn’t sounded very appealing to him.

So, after his appointment with a friend of Dwalin, and a quick dash towards the infirmary to pick up one of Oin’s prized salves, he had allowed Dís to drag him along. He had been surprised when he found himself on one of the playgrounds of the mountains. This seemed a very odd location for a stag night. There were no more than two dozen fauntlings, jumping and running around, with their mothers watching over them with hawk’s eyes. It was strange to Bilbo to see how very few children lived in these mountains. But on the other hand – with the poisonous food as a regular source of nutrition – he should not have been surprised at all. But now these children, and even more so their mothers, looked happy and healthy again, having lived on food from the Shire for a little more than a month.

 

Having to take care of two ‘stags’ the inhabitants of the mountain had decided that the soft-spoken hobbit could be allowed to be around their precious children, while the males took care that Thorin had a good evening, at least that’s what Bilbo was told. There was an acceptable amount of food available, though the dwarflings needed a little incentive to try the greens Bombur had prepared for them. But Bilbo coaxed them: for every carrot-stew or salad they ate, he would tell them one story from the Shire; and so their plates were cleaned methodically, even when the little ones argued that these was quite big portions, so they really should get two stories for them!

The later it got, the more fauntlings … dwarflings(!) … found a resting place on their mothers’ laps, stubbornly refusing to go to bed as long as ‘story-time’ was not over. The lady-dwarrows took over when Bilbo had talked himself hoarse. Just like the hobbit, they chose stories about their home. The vast richness of the land that once had surrounded the Lonely Mountain. The beauty of Erebor itself and the treasures they had been found within. It was all so different from what Thorin had told him. These women remembered their home quite differently from their prince’s. For them it had meant safety and beauty, enough food for their families and safety for their children. A life under the protective reign of the Durin clan for as long as anybody could remember.

Back home, no elves had come bothering them about their fields, something Bilbo noticed with great interest, but he didn’t want to delve into the matter, because he could tell it was an unhappy one. No other dwarrows had claimed taxes for using a part of a mountain range they had long since abandoned. And most of all the prosperity and the countless offspring their race had birthed.

So many years had passed since their playgrounds had been overflowing with children, happy and safe the lot of them. Those were bitter-sweet memories, but Gloin’s wife Gilla revealed to Bilbo when he mentioned it, that all women now hoped that with the support of the Shire these surroundings would once again become safe and fertile, like Erebor had been long ago. Bilbo had already proven himself a blessing for their new home, making the first steps towards feeding their children healthy food. Therefore none of them would see anybody but him on their future king’s side.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

Smiling at the happy memories, the hobbit brushed over the flawless waistcoat, the rich coat and the silky shirt that shone in the light of the countless candles that had been ignited in Dís’s quarters. His future sister-in-law had offered her rooms for him to get ready for the ceremony. Knowing the quirks of the royal tailor, she had fled the scene not too long after his arrival.

Well, to be perfectly honest, she didn’t need to be groomed at all. The princess had worn a flowing silk dress, as light blue as the early morning sky, and she had looked truly marvellous. Seeing her like that, Dwalin would surely fall for her all over again.

Fíli and Kíli had peeked in, both wearing blue and silver as it was accustomed to their line, but Dís had shooed them away. They would be Bilbo’s honour guard, because he had no family having his back when walking to his wedding. Usually this position was taken by the father, one escort being enough. But neither Dís nor Bilbo had had the heart to choose one brother over the other for this important position.

Dís had offered to be his lead, the customary position for the mother of the groom. All in all the Durins did their very best so that Bilbo would be able to uphold their traditions. Considering that his parents were dead, Bilbo assumed that he should be grateful for their help, but going through this day – presumably the most important day of his life – far away from Hobbiton and Bag End and most of all his family _did_ hurt. No matter how hard he tried to be pleased by his new family’s support.

 

“You look dashing. Belladonna would have liked that outfit, all shimmery and shining.”

For half a breath Bilbo closed his eyes, unable to believe that the soft voice was not a figment of his imagination, a mere hallucination conjured by his memories, and that when he turned around he would be alone still. Yet a persistent hope forced him look to the door, only to find his grandmother standing in the doorway, clad in the most beautiful burgundy robe, with flowers decorating her grey hair.

The young hobbit bit back a sob, tears welling up in his eyes, when he closed the distance between them, hugging her fiercely as if he was afraid that she would vanish. “Grandma.” When he felt her strong arms enveloping him, was he able to relax a little. “What are you doing here? Where is grandfather, and what about the fauntlings? Are aunt Donna and aunt Bella here as well? And who is taking care of Isengar?”

Calming her grandson by lovingly cupping his cheeks, Adamanta Took brushed away his tears of joy. “This is your wedding-day, Bilbo. Where else would I be? Don’t worry, everybody is taken care of. The girls and their fauntlings are with the Chubb-Bagginses and Isengar was hobbit-napped by your tattooed warrior who insisted that our boy should meet his second … no third cousin’s daughter. I think he is trying to play matchmaker.”

Leaning into his grandmother’s gentle caresses, Bilbo hiccupped before asking, “And what about grandfather? Is he …” but before he could finish this sentence, he recognized the mischievous smile on his grandmother’s face. That led to but one conclusion: “He is with Thorin, isn’t he? Warning him of all the Tookish traits my future husband will have to endure from now on.”

 

Pulling back, raising her chin defiantly, while straightening her grandson’s cravat, she explained, “Well somebody has too. He did the same thing for your father – may he be happy on Yavanna’s endless fields – so it is only right and proper for him to do so for your husband too. You know your temper, he’d better know how to deal with it right from the start.”

Taking his grandmother’s hands, putting them down because he had been prodded enough for one day, Bilbo reminded her in a soft voice, “I am also a Baggins, of Bag … anyway. I want to remind you that I CAN be quite proper and respectable!”

Looking at the boy with a gentle smile, Adamanta explained: “I know you can, Bilbo. But your Baggins half would not have stormed off to shout at your grandfather. Your Baggins side would never have sided with a dwarrows over your own kin, because you thought them mistreated and your Baggins side … well, yes it would. Your Baggins side would most likely have offered Bag End as payment for the rye, necessary to feed the dwarrows of the Blue Mountains. Because the most admirable treat of a Baggins is valuing your family over anything else.”

Raising her hands so that Bilbo would not interrupt her, she continued, “All I say, Bilbo, is that your Took side has a habit of coming to the surface whenever Thorin is involved, and your Baggins side is not always there to balance it out. He has gotten quite close to your heart, so he should learn how to protect it.”

Smiling tenderly, Bilbo nodded, “Yes, he has. He’s my best friend, grandmother. And just like Drogo and Otho, when we were children, he has the ability to drive me up the wall like nobody else.”

 

Taking her grandson’s hands into her own, Adamanta nudged him towards the sofa, looking at him earnestly. Her voice lost all teasing and her words were well chosen when she asked, “Bilbo, regarding that, I would like to ask you a question. It is a very important question and all I want to hear from you is the truth, my boy. Can you do that? Can you answer me one single question, without reservation?”

Looking at his grandmother, because the serious tone all of a sudden didn’t seem to fit the occasion, Bilbo nodded. With a deep sigh Adamanta Took, wife of the thain of the Shire for nearly sixty years, decided to inquire about what had bothered her, ever since Gerontius had told her about Bilbo’s proposal. “Bilbo, if the situation was somehow different... If the support of the Shire was not bound to this marriage any longer, if the contract was declared null and void and we would still care for the dwarrows of the Blue Mountains, would you still go through with this wedding?”

THAT was a question Bilbo had not expected, and as soon as the last words had left his grandmother’s lips, he pulled back his hands and rose form the couch. Would he marry Thorin if no contract would force this upon them? Would he still want to live here with him, far away from the Shire, or was this all just duty to him?

Looking into the flames of the fire, Bilbo thought about the last weeks, where he and Thorin had settled into a comfortable routine even when no longer in the Shire. The two of them enjoyed their time together, sharing breakfast before seeing to their respective duties – duties Bilbo most of the time helped with, because otherwise Thorin would simply be buried in paperwork.

If he left now, Thorin would return to taking care for everything without any kind of support, because he wouldn’t even think of calling for it. He would rise alone, maybe spend a little time with Fíli and Kíli before returning to his work. He would sit though endless council meetings at his father’s side. He would oversee the training of the young guards now and then, before returning to his desk. He would fulfil all of his obligations dutifully, but in the end he would sit in his rooms, reading or writing, before falling asleep over his work more often than not.

He would not enjoy a nice dinner with his family, because his nephews would most likely not dare to invade his private rooms without being asked to. He would attend to his meals absent-mindedly, instead of savouring each flavour like Bilbo had taught him to. Well, maybe he would in the beginning, but sooner or later, eating would return to being a necessity instead of something he could draw pleasure form.

Speaking of pleasure, without Bilbo Thorin would most certainly not draw a steaming bath with a bowl of strawberries and whipped cream by its side or enjoy toying with the food in the most comfortable surroundings. Without Bilbo, Thorin would be alone. Surrounded by his family in a mountain full of dwarrows, but apart from occasional evenings out drinking with Dwalin, Thorin would be utterly alone.

So there really was no choice for Bilbo. He wished for his friend to have a happy and fulfilling life. But most of all he did _not_ want to return to an empty Bag End, living all by himself again after having found this new family. So, Bilbo turned towards his grandmother determined.

With a strong voice he explained, “Yes, I would, Nana. Apart from everything, I proposed because it was _the right thing to do._ Thorin is my friend, my _best_ friend, and he is happier with me by his side than he ever would be alone.”

 

Rising from the sofa, the lady-hobbit approached her grandson, and once again caressed his cheek. Lowly she asked, “And what about you, Bilbo? Are _you_ happier, with him by your side as well?”

Smiling lovingly, Bilbo enveloped his grandmother in an all-encompassing hug, nuzzling into her neck because he knew she was ticklish there. His voice left no room for the slightest doubt when he said, “Yes, after Fell Winter, having the Durins with me, having Thorin by my side, I am most definitely happier than before. This is the right thing to do, grandmother, don’t you worry. I _will_ be happy here, I promise. And the Shire is only a little more than a week away. I can always visit!”

Kissing her grandson’s forehead, Adamanta smiled. “That’s what I wanted to hear, my love. Now, let’s take care of these buttons and then we will be off.”

“Nana! I have dressed myself since I was four!” Bilbo protested, just like he had with the tailor.

But the other hobbit would have none of that. Slapping his hands out of the way, she stated, “Of course you have, but I have dressed others before you were even born. So I have much more experience with it!”

 

A sudden thought occurring to him, Bilbo asked, “By the way, how did you get here all of a sudden? Dís, Fíli and Kíli have prepared me for an entire week on the traditions of this special day, and what they would do to make up for my absent family.”

With an impish smile, his grandmother revealed, “Well they did a good job in tricking you, Bilbo. Because this entire last week we were already on the road. Thorin sent a caravan to the Shire about two weeks ago. It reached us just in time for us to pick up our luggage and we were off the next day.”

“What do you mean ‘luggage’? You had already packed?” Bilbo was confused, because nothing about this story had made sense so far.

Laughing, his grandmother explained. “Of course we had. Thorin’s message reached us some twenty days ago, giving us ample time to prepare for this adventure.”

“Thorin had …” Bilbo stammered. How had his dwarf kept such a thing from him? But then … some twenty days ago he had mostly been working in the fields, most of the time with single-minded determination, not free to think about anything else. Thorin would have had enough time to plan and send a caravan on its way. “Wait? Did you say the fauntlings are with the Chubb-Bagginses’ babies? How many wagons did Thorin send?”

Smiling, looking entirely innocent, Adamanta waved her hand, as if this was not important right now, before righting the handkerchief that Bungo had worn on his wedding day and that now was neatly bound around Bilbo’s wrist. “I don’t know, about a dozen? It was enough for everybody, rest assured. But now we need to go, or you will be late for your own wedding. And THAT would be terribly improper, don’t you think?”

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

Thorin had not been much better off than Bilbo. All through the morning he had been groomed and polished. But he knew the act, so the tailor had been through with him very quickly. Around midday Fíli and Kíli had brought a light meal and though Thorin had been grateful, he was too nervous to appreciate it. Thankfully his nephews had decided to leave soon after lunch, for some ‘last minute preparations’. Thorin had not asked why these preparations included terrible noises from Bilbo’s room and they hadn’t volunteered any information.

The same had been true for his sister. Though she had indicated that she had spent the evening and the better part of the morning with Bilbo, she hadn’t given any news on what they had done or how Bilbo was today. Was he as nervous as Thorin, as excited? Dís had only smiled when Thorin had asked her to leave, so that he could have a few blessed moments of quiet, before the ceremony – and everything that would go with it – started.

 

So he was a little … well a _lot_ , exasperated, when there was another knock at the door. His last guest had been his father, reminding him of his duties (as if he needed it) and congratulating him on the union. Therefore there was no one in the mountain who still had business with him. And if they had, they should wait until tomorrow, or maybe next week. Thorin was still unsure of how much of their honeymoon he and Bilbo would spent in this so called ‘seclusion’. The story about the flower-chain that would bind them together had not made a lot of sense to Thorin in the first place.

Still he straightened his spine, and dutifully bade this unexpected guest to enter. He didn’t want to believe his eyes when he saw the Old Took standing in the doorway.

 

“You look quite handsome, son,” was the first comment, before the hobbit closed the door and stepped up to Thorin to envelop him in a friendly hug. Gerontius really hadn’t expected Thráin to be here; after everything he had been told by Fíli and Kíli and the other dwarrows who he had inquired discreetly, the king didn’t strike him as the parental type. He had a lot of duties to fulfil.

Yet, in the Shire it was believed that no groom should be left alone prior to the wedding ceremony. Too many emotions usually built up, so that the couple always needed their family to calm them, keep them from panicking.

With a sad smile Gerontius remembered the last few hours before to his daughter’s wedding, when he had bid his time with her husband when his own father Mungo had taken care of buffet tables that had been tumbled over by a few fauntlings. For the entire hour he had held his future son-in-law’s hand, reassuring him. Because suddenly, the determined young hobbit, who had built a smial for his daughter, had not been so sure any more if Belladonna really wanted him.

They had been like day and night, and all the little differences and mishaps had piled up in Bungo’s mind, until all he could think about were the things that DIDN’T match, instead of seeing all the happiness they had, when being together.

So Gerontius had taken his time, retelling stories his daughter had told him. Adventures into the wood where Bungo had tailed along dutifully and in the end found the most beautiful meadow in the middle of a small forest, west of Hobbiton, where they both had woven garlands for each other.

The first evening they had spent in a half-finished smial, in a nest of cushions and blankets on the floor, dreaming about their future together.

When Gerontius had finally left, both Bungo and Belladonna had been smiling brilliantly and the whole Shire had agreed that there had been no lovelier couple that season.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

Touching their foreheads, when Thorin seemed lost for words, Gerontius asked, “Nervous?”

“Not at all. I have been sufficiently prepared for today.” Thorin’s answer sounded earnest and determined, his posture regal and strong. Yet when Gerontius only smiled at him, calling him wordlessly on the lie, Thorin deflated and admitted, “Terribly.”

Smiling because he had been able to coax an earnest answer out of his soon to be grandson-in-law, the Old Took pulled Thorin towards the armchairs that stood in front of the fire. Looking around, regretting that they were not in the Shire where he could have offered a soothing cup of tea, Gerontius took the chair opposite of Thorin, gently touching the dwarf’s knee to gain his attention again.

After a little while, Thorin mustered the courage to speak his mind, even though he did it to his clenched hands, in an uncharacteristically low voice. “What if he is not happy here? What if he hates living in a mountain? Bilbo is not a dwarf, he’s used to the green hills of the Shire and spending his days in the garden or in the kitchen. Here he helps me with my paperwork, overseeing the reports from the fields. These are not natural surroundings for a hobbit.”

Smiling a little, because really that boy sounded so very much like Belladonna’s Bungo, the Old Took said, “The natural surroundings, as you call it, for a hobbit is his family! I have seen the way Bilbo looks at your kin. The way he treated all the dwarrows in his home. Bilbo went at great lengths in the Shire to make sure that all of you were happy. He adopted all of you as his own, so there really is no better place for him than here.

“Regarding the earth and the cooking and paperwork, these are minor obstacles you can work out. The only really important thing is that the two of you really want this. That you don’t feel obliged to do it because of a stupid contract that should not have existed in the first place.”

Changing his tone, becoming more solemn, more serious, Gerontius asked, “Tell me something, Thorin: if your father and I found a way out of this agreement, would you still want to marry my grandson? Would you still want to spend your life with him? You know Bilbo by now. He can be quite a handful. You already have suffered through more than one of his temper tantrums. Do you think you can live with someone like him by your side and be happy?”

Remembering all the times he and Bilbo had fought, Thorin recalled all the times his hobbit had shouted at him, because he had messed up, or acted inappropriately. The one time he had hurt Thorin deeply, Bilbo had shown the dignity to apologize for it publicly. But most of all, he remembered the first time he had understood that there was a fire burning deep inside the hobbit’s core, something that gave Bilbo unparalleled strength; the strength to make the right decisions without a second thought and see them through, no matter the costs.

So with a soft smile Thorin nodded, reminding the Old Took in a warm voice, “How can I not, when one of those temper tantrums made him propose? I would have never dared to do so myself, you know that, Master Took, even if it was the desired outcome of our journey. But Bilbo rectified a decision he had perceived wrong and I will be forever grateful for that. So whatever your grandson offers, I will take it, because I know he is a caring and loving person at heart, and I would not have him any other way.”

Content with the answer, Gerontius Took, thain of the Shire, rose from his seat and offered his hand to the dwarf. “That’s what I wanted to hear. Now, let’s go, Thorin. I am sure that Adamanta has Bilbo ready by now and your sister is outside, prepared you walk you down the aisle. You wouldn’t want to let your husband wait on his wedding day?”

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to admit that this chapter got a little away from me. Usually I try to make my break at 4.000 words per chapter. 'Sadly' I don't even have the excuse that the next chapter will make up for it and even the overall length of my texts because it will be even longer. But let's be honest, with a wedding, you are allowed to take your time ;).


	15. Serve your Happiness and Obey your Heart’s Desires

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You all know what's coming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still on holiday, yet I decided that "Percy Jackson" for the umpteenth time was more than I could take. Therefore I used my time sensibly and went over the wedding chapter after Redone had edited it. So for all of you (ahead of schedule!!!): here comes the groom(s).

Taking the offered hand, Thorin rose and allowed the hobbit to straighten his clothes one last time.

Traditionally the groom was accompanied by his mother, yet Thorin had lost his, many decades ago. Aware that Bilbo’s family would make it to the mountains just in time for the wedding, Dís was proud to stand by his side.

Initially Thorin had assumed that he would have to do this alone – and not really worried about it, because he was used to be the centre of attention. But ever since hearing about the arrival of the hobbits, Thorin couldn’t help but feel relieved about having his family by his side on this very day. So when Dís took his arm, having waited for him in the corridor, he kissed her forehead, grateful for the support.

He would never admit it but ‘nervous’ didn’t nearly cover his feelings. ‘Terrified’ would be a much more apt description. And from the looks of it, Gerontius had picked it up as soon as he had entered the quarters. Thorin could see the hobbit – had they been in the Shire – fussing over tea and biscuits to calm him. Here, in the Blue Mountains, he had done the next best thing: offer his companionship, and for Thorin this was as soothing as a steaming cup of tea, maybe even more so.

 

When they reached the main hall, Thorin took a deep breath. It seemed that not only the entire kingdom was present: half the Shire seemed to have taken his offer to join them for Bilbo’s wedding as well. With raised eyebrows he turned to the Old Took who had followed them and asked lowly, “Only the closest family?”

Grinning at the dwarven prince, Gerontius admitted, “Nothing further than second degree cousins, I can assure you.”

“Whatever country you would want to invade, you would conquer it through sheer mass,” Thorin mumbled.

Only to be laughed at by the hobbit. “Luckily we don’t have such ambitions. We are trying to take over nations by marriage.”

Perplexed Dís asked from Thorin’s side, “How often have you done that?”

Winking at the princes mischievously, the Took said, “Including your kingdom, I would say: once.”

With a wink the hobbit gave the siblings a little push. People started to notice them. It wouldn’t do to linger at the entrance like button sellers.

 

Thorin marvelled at the atmosphere in the great hall. Though it was celebratory, it wasn’t filled with the tense anticipation that usually accompanied such ceremonies in the dwarven kingdom. The hobbits – who had found places beside, in front of and behind the dwarrows, sometimes inbetween two dwarven families – were whispering excitedly and pointed fingers at them. The children were laughing and waved at him. Thorin estimated that there were at least thirty children present, and nearly twice as many hobbit adults. If they were aware that the dwarrows of the Blue Mountains were looking at them in wonder because of their numerous offspring, they gave no indication.

They really were a happy and carefree race, even though, as Thorin knew, the horrors they had lived through had scarred many of them deeply. When he passed the front row, where Dwalin sat with Isengar on his lap, the little one cried for his father as soon as he spotted him behind the royal siblings, and Gerontius slid to the bench, placing his youngest on his lap so that he had a good view of the ceremony and all the colourful and shiny people who attended it. Thorin and Dís truly looked like king and queen in their royal attire, the male dwarf wearing highly polished armour underneath his coat.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

When Bilbo saw Fíli and Kíli greeting his grandmother with a respectful yet brief bow, he realized, “You knew she was here!”

Grinning at the lady-hobbit, the brothers revealed, “Of course we did, we got her and the thain situated yesterday.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me?” Bilbo asked, completely baffled.

Bouncing slightly on the balls of his feet like little children on a playground, Kíli said, “Nope.”

Only to have Fíli add, “Uncle was very strict. He wanted this to be a surprise.”

“Well it certainly is, I didn’t expect …” They reached the hall this very moment and just like Thorin, Bilbo found himself to be the centre of attention of all the dwarrows of the kingdom and nearly one hundred hobbits.

Sharing an overjoyed grin, Fíli and Kíli bent towards him and whispered in his ears: “Surprise.”

Elated, Bilbo beamed at his family. Tears were streaming down his cheeks, for he had been sure that he would have to spend this day with only his new family by his side. But now, numerous relatives were waving at him, wearing the most vibrant colours with flowers in their hair, and Bilbo felt jubilant seeing them all.

 

Allowing him a moment of joy, Adamanta directed Bilbo’s attention to the front of the room. “I think somebody is anxious for you to join him. We shouldn’t let Thorin wait any longer, don’t you think?”

Nodding enthusiastically, brushing away the tears, Bilbo started his walk between his old family and his new one. Fíli and Kíli fell into step behind him and when he glanced over his shoulder, he saw them both wearing solemn expressions that suited the occasion. Then he turned around and suddenly all he could see was Thorin.

His future husband looked regal and majestic, even when standing next to his father the king. Only Dís’ small wink told Bilbo that his spouse was as nervous as him, because Thorin gave no indication. Yet his eyes shone with happiness when Bilbo finally stood by his side, their fingers briefly brushing before they turned towards the king.

Taking a place that mirrored Dís’, Adamanta nodded towards Fíli and Kíli so that they could officially abandon their posts at Bilbo’s back and join the crowd. She didn’t even try to supress a smile, when the young dwarrows instantly joined the Chubb-Bagginses, who had been seated in the front row, and picked up the babies from their laps, who wore adorable, green romper suits, embroidered with vibrant flowers.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

Then the ceremony started.

It was wordy and confusing, because as tradition demanded, it was held in Khuzdul. Bilbo had been prepared for that, and had memorized the words and responses expected from him. Ori had assured him that it all contained promises of respect and support, as well as an agreement to combine the assets of both families and lastly loyalty towards the spouse.

Bilbo had been surprised to discover that no personal feelings were involved in these vows. Dwarrows didn’t promise to love and care, strange for a race that insisted on public claiming as part of the ceremony. But on the other hand, maybe all the emotions lay in the claiming. Because who would publicly make love to someone if he didn’t have feelings for the person?

Then legal documents were offered, and Bilbo signed as instructed, proud that his hand shook only a little. It seemed to be the same for Thorin, because even his signature was slightly crooked. After attaching the royal seal, the king changed the language of the ceremony to Westron.

“My cherished subjects, today I have the honour and great pleasure to join my son, Thorin Oakenshield, and the hobbit, Bilbo Baggins in marriage. Never before in our known history has a joining of these two races occurred. So we wish to honour not only our own traditions, but those of the spouse as well. Therefore, please hear the wedding vows, as they are accustomed in the Shire.”

 

Thorin looked a little perplexed at that announcement and Bilbo wondered for a moment if his husband had not been prepared for this. He had given the vows to Balin more than a week ago and had wondered occasionally whether Thorin would mention anything.

The words had to come as a surprise for Thorin, having had them looming over his head as a perceived threat for such a long time without knowing their true meaning.

But now was not the time to dwell on that, so Bilbo turned towards Thorin and took both of his hands into his own, gently brushing the callused palms of his dwarf with his thumbs. Smiling reassuringly, he cleared his throat and spoke in a clear voice, so that every last member of his family and all of his friends could hear him.

“I, Bilbo Baggins, promise to you, Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, to serve your happiness and obey your heart’s desires in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, for as long as we both shall live.”

Thorin’s stunned expression revealed that his dwarf really hadn’t known the true meaning of the words ‘serve and obey’, until this very moment. With a nudge and a reassuring smile, Bilbo reminded him quietly, “You have to repeat them, my sweet.”

Shaking himself out of his stupor, Thorin lowered himself to one knee, kissing Bilbo’s hands reverently, before declaring in a somewhat trembling voice: “I, Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, promise to you Bilbo Baggins, son of Bungo and Belladonna, daughter of Gerontius, to serve … to serve your happiness and obey your heart’s desires in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health, for as long as we both shall live.”

As soon as the last words had left his mouth, the hall erupted in cheers. Hobbits rose from their places, whistling, clapping and laughing and soon the dwarrows of the Blue Mountains joined them. The happiness and joy of these little people truly was compelling.

Rising, Thorin enveloped Bilbo in a quivering hug, before he touched their foreheads. In a low whisper Thorin asked, “Why did you change the words?”

Taking his dwarf’s face in his hands, kissing him most tenderly, Bilbo replied, “I didn’t. That’s what they always stood for.”

Confused, still clutching his husband’s coat, Thorin looked over his shoulder towards the Old Took, only to see him confirm his grandson’s words. The thain’s words were as low as Bilbo’s when he explained, “It was always about matrimony, never about servitude. One just naturally came with the other, because no hobbit would ever choose a spouse who looked down at him condescendingly and would not commit to society.”

 

Suddenly the king cleared his throat quite vocally, interrupting their communication. With a smile he asked, “Do you mind? I’m trying to perform a wedding here.”

Aware that the cheers had died down, Bilbo and Thorin turned towards the king, hands fastened tightly, when the king declared in a loud voice: “Before Mahal … and Yavanna, … before the council and the power vested in me, I now pronounce you legally wed. You may now kiss.”

Beaming with pride, the hobbit and the dwarf once again looked at each other and shared a kiss before turning towards their audience, raising their joined hands.

For quite a long time they were cheered at and congratulations where shouted at them. Blessings to Mahal and Yavanna echoed through the hall. Having one arm around each other’s backs, Thorin and Bilbo took them with huge smiles on their faces, until the hall had calmed again.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

Now they had reached the part Bilbo had always been most nervous about, so Thorin turned towards his lover … no, husband! In a whisper he asked, “Are you sure about this? We don’t have to …”

Yet, before he could finish, his hobbit interrupted him. “And then what, Thorin? We DO have to do this. Our marriage won’t be binding otherwise, Balin has taught me well. We can’t afford anybody questioning our motives, you are well aware of that.”

The sturdy wooden table that had served as a bureau for the signing of the marriage papers would now serve as their makeshift bedding. Thorin was aware that traditions demanded of him to share himself with his husband publicly. Still, it was written nowhere that he had to like it, it was just assumed that if two people loved each other, they wouldn’t have a problem with being intimate publicly. What a stupid idea!

If Thorin was perfectly honest with himself, he had always dreaded the public claiming because he thought it undignified. Intimacy was something that should happen between two partners, in the privacy of their own rooms, not before an entire kingdom. Apart from Bilbo having second thoughts and running out on him, this part of the ceremony had always been his greatest fear. So he was equally surprised and relieved to find his husband standing by his side, the table imposingly behind them. He was puzzled however, when his hobbit suddenly addressed their guests in a clear voice. Well, at least some of them.

 

“Dear family, when you came here, you knew that I would be wedded to a dwarf, a member of a race who comes with traditions and ceremonies different from our own. To most of you, what is about to happen will feel strange, and it is most definitely something that is NOT suitable for the fauntlings to watch. We will join you as soon as possible, but please, take your children and leave the room for this is not for their eyes.”

Turning towards the boys, because the LAST thing Bilbo wished for was for them to watch him making love to their uncle, he requested, “Fíli, Kíli, please accompany them, and entertain them until we are through with this.”

With a brief gaze towards their grandfather, who confirmed Bilbo’s demand, their shoulders visibly sagged with relief. The hobbit hadn’t even noticed until now how tense those two had become. Now their good-natured smiles returned and with sure strides they guided the children and nearly all of their parents out of the hall.

Bilbo looked at his grandparents, yet Gerontius and Adamanta remained seated in the front row. And while they were not smiling any longer, they shook their head at Bilbo’s pleading look. Obviously the thain and his wife planned to stay and witness every last part of their grandson’s wedding ceremony.

Unable to do anything about it, Bilbo simply sighed and lowered his head. He understood that their position demanded of them to be here, but he really didn’t enjoy it.

When he finally turned to look at his husband, he took a deep breath and a tender smile lightened his features. Thorin didn’t like this, not the tiniest bit. But they were married now and Bilbo had sworn to see to his dwarf’s happiness. Well, obviously these duties would start sooner than anticipated.

 

When Bilbo turned towards him, Thorin had already started to take off his furred overcoat and was currently opening the buckles of his ceremonial armour.

He was nervous, more than he liked to admit, but his face was composed and determined. Bilbo was right, they had to see this through, otherwise their marriage would be null and void, and that was not something Thorin could bear. Not when he had finally gotten his hobbit bound to his side by a marriage contract.

Joining his dwarf, ridding himself of his coat and neck cloth, Bilbo paused when he opened the buttons of his shimmering blue waistcoat. Looking at Thorin’s father, the hobbit gestured towards the front row with a pleading look. Lowly he asked the king, “Do you mind? I would rather do this without anybody but Thorin breathing down my neck.”

With a small smile, because the dwarven-king was well aware of how hard this was for the two lovers, he gave a brief nod, before walking towards the guests and choosing a place between Dís and Balin, where Bilbo’s aunts had sat before.

 

Grateful for not being under the close surveillance of his father any longer, Thorin took an unsteady breath. Why were these buckles so damn stubborn? If this were his usual armour, he would have been able to get rid of it easily. But the beautiful ceremonial armour refused to budge. He flinched for the briefest moment, when he felt fingers covering his own. He was a grown dwarf; he could undress himself, thank you very much.

A nervous smile escaped him when he realized that it was his husband, who was covering Thorin’s trembling hands with his own. From the looks of it, Bilbo wore the same underclothes he had got from the tailor. A long line of tiny buttons adorned the front of Bilbo’s long shirt and the trousers too were fastened with buttons instead of laces, which made opening them even easier. Thorin really wasn’t sure if he liked the idea, although he had to admit that Bilbo looked ethereally beautiful in the creamy white undergarments.

Leaning into his hobbit a little, he inhaled the clean and warm scent, allowing Bilbo to push his shaking hands away to open Thorin’s armour himself. Soon the heavy mail found a place on the waistcoat and the overcoats he had already shed. When Thorin bent to remove his boots, the hobbit smiled: “Allow me,” kneeling before Thorin to help him out of his footwear.

Glancing at the audience, the prince realized that the majority of his guests seemed pleased by the gesture. They all expected Thorin to be the driving force behind their relationship. To see the hobbit kneeling before him, _serving him_ , so easily, seemed to sit well with them. Well, they were in for a surprise.

There was no way Thorin would drive Bilbo into anything. If this happened on the hobbit’s terms, he would accept it gratefully, but he would never urge his lover to do something he didn’t like. He simply couldn’t, Bilbo was far too precious for that. Deciding to show them how far he was willing to go for his hobbit, Thorin started to unbutton his shirt, before trying to shrug it off. Yet Bilbo’s fingers stilled him and pulled the opened cloth close again.

His voice was a mere whisper, ghosting warmly over Thorin’s chest, when the hobbit explained, “This is only for me, I do not wish for you to be exposed for the world to see, dear husband.”

Confused, Thorin shook his head. “But this is the public claiming. How will we do it if I don’t expose myself?”

Kissing him tenderly, the hobbit revealed, “I have talked with your father’s expert of dwarvish traditions. Master Kiron was tremendously helpful. The public claiming is, at its very core, the union of two people, ideally lovers. Nothing in your books and scrolls speaks of the two being naked at that time.”

Looking at his hobbit with amazement, because he had never even thought about looking into these traditions, Thorin could only snicker. “So, from ‘Not touching what’s yours’, we go to ‘Not watching what belongs to you’?”

Smiling up at his dwarf, stealing another kiss, Bilbo confirmed. “Yes, that is most certainly true. The bedroom and spots where there are no people in a one mile radius will be the only places where you will be allowed to be naked from now on, at least if I have a say in it.”

Cupping his lover’s face most tenderly, leaning down to share a languid kiss, Thorin whispered, “As you wish, lover, although I enjoyed our time in the bathtub,” because truly, none of this would be too bad, if he didn’t have to expose himself, for the entire kingdom to see.

 

Bilbo seemed to pick up on Thorin’s relief because the next moment, the dwarf could feel the hobbit’s clever fingers softly caressing his groin. Had he thought himself unable to react appropriately, the proximity and the touch of his lover convinced his body otherwise.

Thorin didn’t offer any resistance when Bilbo nudged him towards the table, crouching down before him. The dwarf’s fingers curled around the hard edge of the table, as soon as his lover started to open his trousers, one tiny button at a time, looking up at him with a mischievous smile.

Thorin couldn’t be sure if Bilbo was doing it on purpose, but whenever another button was freed from its buttonhole, the hobbit’s warm thumb or hot breath caressed his newly revealed skin most appealingly. Sooner rather than later, Thorin found himself longing for his lover’s touch; not the lingering teasing Bilbo taunted him with, but skin on skin, his lips on the hobbit’s mouth, swallowing the heavy breaths Bilbo used to make during their lovemaking.

His desire diminished a little, when he looked up from the blonde curls to gaze at the audience that watched them in reverent silence. His lover, however, seemed to feel his sudden unease. Within a heartbeat Bilbo rose from his knees, urging Thorin to return his attention to him. Bilbo’s words were soft yet insistent when he demanded quietly, “Don’t look at them, my sweet. This will be over before you know it, if you concentrate solely on me.”

After that Thorin felt the tender fingers of his lover urging him to share another kiss. All too soon Thorin’s breathing sped up and he pulled his hobbit closer, wordlessly demanding more. Bilbo was only too happy to comply. Without moving further away than an inch, coaxing Thorin with his appealing lips to follow him, the hobbit moved back a little to gain access to their groins once again.

Faster than before more skin was revealed and Thorin couldn’t supress a low moan, when Bilbo’s hand covered his erection, which had flared to life. Feverishly Thorin reached for his lover’s clothes. He wanted more, more contact, more skin, but Bilbo’s smooth chest was still covered by the silky cloth of his undergarments.

Tugging them open, Thorin traced his warm hands over his lover’s form as soon as he had freed it from the silk. With a deep sigh Bilbo edged closer, fusing their upper bodies, deepening their kiss. His hobbit’s clever fingers had opened Thorin’s trousers all the way back, so that the dwarf could feel the soft fabric opening at his backside. So that was the reason why there were buttons all the way back. Still the waistband held the pants on his hips so that he was no more exposed to his guests than before.

Tugging at his husband’s bottom lip, bringing his attention back to him, the hobbit nudged Thorin’s legs apart so that he could step between them. Sliding back, so that he was partially sitting on the desk, Thorin opened his legs to grant Bilbo all the access he desired. After a heartbeat, he felt his husband’s fingertips ghosting over his hole.

 

He had prepared himself in the morning, and once again after lunch when he had finally been blessedly alone. So he could feel the smile of his lover, when he noticed that there was already oil coating his fingers and that his lover was already stretched. The hobbit dipped one finger into his dwarf’s body easily, and soon another followed.

Once Bilbo started to move his fingers, Thorin latched onto him strongly. One of his broad hands covered the small of Bilbo’s back, pulling his lover as close as possible, while the other hand circled the hobbit’s neck, holding him, so that his hobbit was able to swallow every arousing sound that threatened to escape Thorin’s lips.

 

Bilbo took his time with his preparation, because even when the both of them wanted this to be over swiftly, hurting his lover with sloppy stretching was completely out of the question. He had realized that Thorin had prepared himself already, so soon after nudging his lover’s opening with the tip of a third finger, he heard his dwarf mutter hoarsely, “I am ready, Bilbo. Don’t wait any longer, I am ready for you, please.”

Sinking his fingers into Thorin’s stretched orifice, Bilbo proved his lover right and after only three more widening movements, Bilbo pulled his hand back. Reaching for Thorin’s face with his clean fingers, the hobbit demanded, “Tell me you want this. They can all go to hell with their rules and traditions if you don’t want this, Thorin.”

Caressing his husband’s face, touching their foreheads gently, Thorin whispered, “I want you, Bilbo. All I want is you and this is necessary. Please, do it!”

With a soft kiss, Bilbo smiled up at him, before putting his warm hand on his lover’s chest, encouraging him to lie back.

At first Thorin was confused, but then he realized that he had no chance to see the audience from this perspective, and that he was the perfect height for Bilbo to … by Mahal, yessss! Instantly Thorin wrapped his legs around Bilbo’s hips, feeling the generously tailored silk-clothes hiding him from their audience, pulling his hobbit as close as possible.

The dwarf reached for the top of the table, grasping for the upper edge. He realized that he wasn’t the only one who had prepared himself for this, because Bilbo slid into him smoothly with only the barest friction, nudging his sweet spot with the very first stroke. Usually his hobbit enjoyed prolonging their intercourse, touching and teasing a little. And while their lovemaking was unhurried, there was no ulterior motive behind Bilbo’s movements. Slowly and steadily he drove into Thorin, nudging his favourite spot nearly every time, all the while caressing his dwarf’s hard erection in rhythm with his movements.

 

Now it was hard for Thorin to keep his noises to himself. More than once a hiss escaped his lips, occasionally an urge for Bilbo to go deeper, move faster, because no matter where they were, this was absolute bliss for the dwarf. He was well aware that murmurs and whispers ghosted through the hall but he didn’t want to listen to them right now.

A prince, an heir of Durin(!), being taken by a member of another race surely would be a scandal, but Thorin wouldn’t have it any other way. This was his hobbit, his husband, his Bilbo, and if he was willing to make love to Thorin, the dwarf would enjoy it any way he could.

When his climax overwhelmed him, he came with his husband’s name on his lips, and soon afterwards, he could feel his lover spilling inside of him. He wanted to rise, to face the crowd, but his body felt boneless and Bilbo’s soft hand caressing his chest urged him to take his time to regain his strength. His lover’s ever-present handkerchief gently brushed over his chest and stomach, cleaning away the proof of their lovemaking. He could even feel the silk whispering over his arse, and he forced himself to relax so that Bilbo could clean him and he wouldn’t soil his trousers.

After a few more moments, Bilbo offered his hand to help Thorin rise from the table. Unbeknownst to the dwarf, the hobbit had buttoned up his trousers again, so that even when Bilbo stepped to the side reaching for his husband’s boots, Thorin didn’t expose himself indecently. Avoiding looking at their guests, unwilling to face their judgement, he buttoned up his shirt and smiled at Bilbo, when the hobbit once again kneeled at his feet, helping him with his boots.

Deciding that a waistcoat for Bilbo and the coat for Thorin were enough, leaving armour and overcoat behind, they put their arms around each other before they finally turned towards their guests.

 

Slowly the king rose from his chair, approaching the desk where Bilbo had put his handkerchief on display. Looking down at it, Thráin turned to the Master of Ceremonies. When Master Kiron gave a solemn nod, the king stepped behind the newly wedded couple, put one hand on each spouse’s shoulder and announced in a triumphant voice, “I declare the public claiming a success and this marriage legally binding! Mahal bless prince Thorin and his royal consort Bilbo Baggins! May they live long and prosper!”

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have decided to participate on the 'National Novel Writing Month'. Neither do I know if a "National" contest can be won by someone who is not American in origin, nor am I sure that adding 50.000 words to my story will fulfill the criteria when I have already started it. But to be honest: I really don't care. I just want to try to write 50.000 words in November and I hope that all of you will support me and be patient with me when my texts are not up to their usual standards. It is very little time after all.
> 
> You would help me tremendously if you could inspire me with little situations and occurrences that could happen in Bilbo's and Thorin's life. I have the major plot covered, but the clasps Bilbo got from the Durin family on his birthday were a spurt of imagination. Even when "rushing" through the plot, I would still adore little situations that would make the life of my heroes more real. Even if that be quarreling over a quill, quilt or a tea-set. Please hit me with inspirations, because even when I don't use it, I will be tremendously grateful for it and maybe even draw another scene from it because it triggered something.
> 
> Ao3 has a great and supportive community. And I am always glad for each and every comment I receive. They make my writing efforts worthwhile.


	16. Meragel (= feast of all feasts)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that the wedding is over, the fun part is about to begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I left you all dangling midair after the wedding. I have written a lot during this last week, nearly 20.000 words to be precise. But I have yet to make the time to edit them. You will see them all I promise, it might just take some time.
> 
> Thanks to each and every one of you, who sent me plot-bunnies to inspire me. I really appreciate it and if I am not responding as excessively as I used to, please be lenient with me, it's NaNoWriMo after all and nearly all of my creative energy goes into writing. 
> 
> But I am tremendously grateful for each and every comment and I would never, EVER leave one unanswered. It might just take a while.

Whispers followed them when they walked down the aisle, looks of wonder and sometimes disapproval. But Thorin didn’t care. The way Bilbo had touched him had spoken of deep feelings on his lover’s part. How his hobbit had looked at him had revealed emotions of concern and care. The dwarven prince didn’t doubt for a single heartbeat that Bilbo would have readily stood up to the whole kingdom had Thorin not wanted to go through with the public claiming. So no one, not a single dwarf in these halls had a right to judge what had happened just now.

Thorin had wanted this. The need to show that he and Bilbo belonged together had been his driving force, at least once he had gotten over his embarrassment of being put on display. So whenever a guest looked at him with censure, he just returned the look, calm and content until the dwarf looked away. When glancing over towards his husband, he saw Bilbo doing exactly the same thing, smiling at his people serenely, fixing them with his glare when they dared to scorn. With a loving smile, Thorin brushed a quick kiss on Bilbo’s wrist, frowning at the handkerchief that covered it. But his hobbit only caressed his cheek without any kind of explanation.

When Thorin and Bilbo opened the great doors, they were instantly swarmed by a group of hobbits who cheered and clapped at them elatedly. After facing countless congratulations and blessings, they were finally standing before Gerontius and Adamanta. Sharing a smile, Bilbo’s grandmother placed a wreath on Thorin’s hair, while his grandfather did the same for Bilbo. Upon seeing the flowers, Bilbo whispered in awe, “Myrtle, where did you get them?”

Laughing slightly the Old Took informed them, “In a valley not far from here.”

Only to have his wife add, “And quite honestly, I am shocked, Bilbo Baggins, that neither you nor your husband wear a single flower in your hair on a day like this.”

Smiling at Thorin, enjoying the admiration in his eyes when the dwarf pulled him close and whispered, “You look beautiful, lover,” touching the flower-crown reverently, Bilbo answered, “You look quite handsome yourself. I have never seen a man looking so regal when wearing pink flowers.”

Raising his chin, Thorin told, “Well, I am an heir of Durin. I’ll have you know that I am looking regal in any attire I choose.”

Looking at each other for a moment, Bilbo and Thorin both couldn’t supress their laughter, before thanking the Tooks, hugging their family close. After that they decided that it was time to feast and to start the celebration under the open sky.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

With the help of the hobbits, Fíli and Kíli had plundered the rich floral decorations of the great hall and prepared one wagon as a kind of wedding carriage. And while there was not really a bench to sit upon other than the coach box, the carriage was decorated with colourful ribbons and small bouquets of colourful blossoms. As soon as Bilbo and Thorin stepped out into the open air, they were nudged towards the carriage, and after given ample time to admire the effort, the newly wedded pair mounted it and slowly made their way towards the fields where the celebration would be held at the foot of the mountain terraces.

Although they were surrounded by their guests, the dwarf made use of the little privacy and asked his newly wedded husband, “I take it myrtle is a customary flower for a wedding bouquet?”

Holding on to Thorin, because the slight rumbling of the carriage made Bilbo unsteady on his feet, the hobbit smiled and nodded empathically. “Yes, of course. For a wedding in autumn, no flower could be more fitting. I didn’t even think that myrtle would grow around here, otherwise I would have gone looking for it.”

“So what does it mean?” Because honestly, Thorin could have figured out that first part all by himself. If myrtle had not been an apt flower for weddings, the Tooks would not have chosen it.

Smiling longingly, touching the blossoms that decorated his dwarf’s hair, Bilbo explained quietly, “Myrtle stands for love and joy and … and a happy marriage. They don’t know … none of them. Only my grandparents are aware of the contract, so my family thought them a suitable gift. And who says that our marriage can’t be happy even if it was compulsory. We’ve done well until now, haven’t we?”

Bilbo’s heart clenched when he remembered the reason for Thorin standing by his side. It was not by choice but because of their families’ decisions, the thain’s as well as the king’s, and even when Bilbo was convinced that he would not have done anything different today even if the contract was null and void all of a sudden, he was sure that the same couldn’t be said about the prince. Because honestly: why would a prince want a simple hobbit?

 

Bilbo’s words were like a knife to his chest when the hobbit reminded Thorin of the contract that had forced them together in the first place. The only thing he couldn’t place was the hopeful look in Bilbo’s eyes when he glanced at the flower crown that decorated the dwarf’s dark hair. But he didn’t want to think about it now. It was his wedding day. He had just been bound to the person he … to someone who was very important … dear … he had just married Bilbo and he didn’t want to face the sobering reasons for that until tomorrow, or even better next week when he had to face the court again. Today he just wanted to be happy with his husband by his side for as long as Mahal … or in this case Yavanna, allowed it.

So he pulled his hobbit closer and tenderly kissed his golden locks, inhaling the once again clean earth and sunshine and lavender scent of his partner and whispered, “We most certainly have. And I am sure we can continue this way, no matter what brought us together.” Thorin’s heart jumped when he saw the happy smile of his lover, and he couldn’t resist kissing him tenderly, even in public. No matter what had started their relationship, Bilbo seemed happy right now and that was the only thing of importance.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

When they arrived at the new fields, Thorin felt transferred back to the Shire, because the wide space looked transformed into the meadow under the Party Tree in Hobbiton. Dori had gone to great lengths to provide tables and benches for everyone, and the hobbits, although they had arrived only yesterday, seemed to have spent the remaining day and the entire night decorating everything to their liking.

Had there been trees and railings in the Shire, the hobbits used barrels and pikes from the Blue Mountains to hold their lamps and candleholders that illuminated the scene. The tables were decorated with paper-lanterns and were nearly collapsing under the weight of the countless delicacies that had been provided by Bombur’s kitchen. There were long plates that held only vegetables, something that made Thorin believe that a few lady-hobbits had sneaked into the kitchen to adjust the meals for the Shirefolk.

Bilbo seemed to be overjoyed. As soon as Thorin had helped him from the wagon, he was surrounded by the children who pulled him towards the main table. Right in the middle of it two places had been prepared with tall chairs, each decorated with a colourful flower chain and cushioned with the softest pillows imaginable. Thorin too was tugged along and positioned at his designated place and instantly both were presented with a cup and toasts where shouted across the clearing.

Admiring their special chairs, Thorin and Bilbo sank down, watching their families and friends being seated by Dori with the help of a few of the children who took great pride in their ability to read. There were little cards on the plates, together with the traditional gift of a satchel of sweetened almonds, which showed everyone their designated seat. Nobody mentioned that the cards were written in Khuzdul and the dwarrows more often than not inconspicuously directed the excited hobbits to the correct place, when the children got the seat-cards wrong. It took quite a while, but nobody seemed to mind because they had been greeted with a welcome-drink and a few treats to keep them happy.

Once everybody had found his place, the royal family and Bilbo’s grandparents right next to the pair, all guests looked at the couple, smiling, bouncing excitedly in the case of the fauntlings. It was the Old Took who used the opportunity to raise his glass and toast the couple. When everybody had taken a sip he pulled forth a little piece of paper and unfolded it. After looking at his family, his son-in-law and the royals, he started his speech in a solemn tone.

 

“Dear family and friends,

Today we celebrate the wedding of my grandson Bilbo Baggins and the dwarven prince Thorin Oakenshield.

I think I am speaking for all of us, when I say that we all sorely miss the two most important people in Bilbo’s life today: my daughter Belladonna and her husband Bungo Baggins.

You, Bilbo, were far too young when your parents were taken from you and no matter how hard we tried, we could never replace them, neither in your home, nor in your heart.

For a very long time, dear grandson, I was very worried. Not because you were lacking anything, but because the carefree little boy, who had loved to go on adventures and explored the wonders of life day in and day out, seemed to have died alongside Bungo and Belladonna in Fell Winter.

What I demanded this spring from your folk, King Thráin, was wrong and I would like to use this opportunity to apologize to you, to your son Thorin and to your family. My actions, born of grief and heartache, brought fear and sorrow to them. That, however, was never my intention and I deeply regret the pain I caused all of you.

Yet, I cannot regret what came from my decision.

What I had demanded as punishment, became the greatest blessing I could ever wish for. Never, not once since the death of his parents, have I seen Bilbo as happy and as content as with the members of your family by his side, despite all the trials and tribulations they all had to go through. For my grandson you were the way back to happiness. And there is nothing in all Middle-earth that I can ever do to repay that.

So I will simply say: Thank you.

Thank you, Lord Thráin, for choosing your son as your representative, and thank you, Thorin, for making my grandson happy again, because in the end that’s the only thing that matters.

So let us all raise our glasses to the dwarrows of the Blue Mountains, to Thorin Oakenshield and to my grandson Bilbo Baggins. May Yavanna and Mahal bless your union. May you live long in a warm home, with food aplenty and a happy family that wants for nothing as long as they walk Middle-earth.

Praise the Green Lady.”

 

Both Bilbo and Thorin had a hard time fighting down their tears, when they raised the glasses along with Gerontius Took’s. They discreetly brushed the lingering wetness away, before rising from their chairs to hug Bilbo’s grandfather and thank him for his blessing. After that the meal started and the atmosphere once again returned to the happy and carefree way that was customary when hobbits were celebrating.

Thorin didn’t look too often towards his father, who seemed to be lost in thoughts ever since the Old Took’s speech. It was uncommon for a dwarf to admit to a fault, unheard of to do it publicly, especially when the dwarf was a person of power. Yet the hobbit had done so easily, putting Thráin’s stubbornness, which had nearly cost him his son, to shame. When the king rose from his chair and asked for a private word with the thain, Thorin only shared a meaningful look with his sister, but both of them remained seated and returned to chatting animatedly with their respective dinner partners.

Thráin and Gerontius Took returned not half an hour later. Both looked serious and solemn when shaking hands, before they returned to their places, smiling at their respective family. It seemed that the union between the Shire and the Blue Mountains had been cemented by more than Bilbo and Thorin’s wedding.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

After the main meal, right before dessert, several hobbits decided that they needed to work up some appetite again. The dwarrows looked at each other in confusion when suddenly one of the little people – not halflings, never halflings, as they had been taught – rose and pulled a flute from the folds of his clothes. Blowing a few crude notes, something that made the dwarrows’ ears hurt, the hobbit made his way to the free area between the tables, where there was space allocated for later dancing, and started a happy song.

Amazed by the boldness of the red-haired hobbit, because of course there would be music later on, the musicians just had to be called upon by the Majordomo after the meal, the dwarvish guests looked on, mystified, as the one hobbit was soon joined by another with a violin, and then a third one who freed a lyre from its wrapping and joined in on the happy tune.

# NaNoWriMo

Laughing and clapping, the hobbits started to sing along with the musicians and Thorin had very little chance to resist when Bilbo pulled him to his feet and dragged him towards the dance floor at the start of the second song. Aware that it was expected from the wedded couple to start the dancing, pointedly forgetting that this was meant to happen AFTER the meal, Thorin joined Bilbo in a wild dance around the musicians, nearly tripping them twice because his hobbit was overly excited and lost his way.

During the third song – a slower one, thank Mahal – Thorin noticed that the hobbits were already fidgeting in their seats to join them. Sharing a knowing look with his lover, both glanced towards the table and decided simultaneously on their next dance partners.

“Dís.”

“Grandmother.”

Circling towards the main table, the two of them let go of each other and bowed in unison before their chosen partners. Perfectly polite, albeit a little out of breath, they asked, “Milady, may I?”

Adamanta seemed to have only waited for the offer, because by the moment Bilbo approached her, she had already risen from her seat, reaching for her grandson, allowing him to guide her towards the musicians.

Dís seemed a little reluctant at first, having participated in only one festivity in Hobbiton. She was not sure if she knew all the steps. In the Shire it had been easy for her to join the crowd, she had been nothing but ‘one of Baggins’s dwarrows’. Here she was a princess and expected not to make a fool of herself. But after a reassuring smile from her brother, she picked up her courage and joined him as well.

 

“How do you feel?” Adamanta asked when her grandson swept her off to the dance floor.

Laughing, Bilbo confessed, “Like flying,” whirling her around, before catching her out of an elegant twirl.

You could say what you wanted about the Baggins family being proper and respectable, mostly boring and predictable, never doing anything out of the ordinary, but they surely learned their etiquette lessons at a very young age, dancing being one of the most important among them. Like her daughter had told to her so long ago, Bungo had been an extraordinarily good dancer and his son even more so. Enjoying the familiar movements, Adamanta allowed Bilbo to lead her, happy that her beloved grandson was finally glowing again. It really was like Gerontius had said: ever since the arrival of the dwarrows, Bilbo had found his happiness again. Belladonna would be very pleased with her son.

Eying the prince and his sister, Adamanta pulled Bilbo a little closer. “Do you think we should save them from their ‘proper’ dancing?”

Looking over to his husband, Bilbo noticed that although both of them moved in tact with the music, they were dancing very sedately and restrainedly. Every step seemed to be predetermined and even when the siblings smiled at each other, the joy hobbits usually found in dancing seemed to be missing.

Tilting his head unsurely, Bilbo pondered, “They are royals here, maybe they are not expected to have fun while dancing?”

Nudging her grandson towards the couple, Adamanta decided, “If you are not having fun when dancing, you are doing it wrong!” before gesturing for her husband to join them.

 

After only one dance Thorin and Dís unexpectedly found themselves surrounded by hobbits. Adamanta took Dís’s hand and Bilbo took Thorin’s. Looking imploringly at her brother, the princess realized that no help would come from that end, because just like always when Bilbo was at his side, Thorin looked at his husband with gooey eyes. Honestly, how could the hobbit NOT realize how very much in love her brother was with him? Yet he still looked up at Thorin innocently, intertwining their fingers, before nodding towards the musicians to start yet another song.

Bofur and Bifur had joined the other hobbits with their own instruments and the dwarven princess soon found herself unable to conjure up another thought. As soon as the music started, the Tooks and the small Baggins pulled their dwarrows along, and within moments the lady-dwarf was far too concentrated on the swift dancing to be able to spare another thought on the ‘proper way’ of behaving while in public, in favour of twirling around with her new family.

The dancing of the newlywed pair and a part of the royal family obviously was the cue for the other hobbits to join them in their merry-making. Before two more songs had passed several other dance-circles were formed and the whole area was lightened with the voices and the laughter of the hobbits. Another song and the guests from the Shire pulled the reluctant dwarrows from their seats. Those who put up any resistance where swiftly surrounded by fauntlings and against these tiny, adorable children, no dwarf could hold opposition for long.

 

At last, Bilbo’s grandmother pulled away from their dancing and approached one of the last guests who had yet to join them. Curtseying respectfully, the elderly hobbit-lady spoke in a low and warm voice, “What about you, King Thráin? Is it inappropriate for the king of the mountain to join his people in dance and song?”

Raising his hands, shaking his head with a smile, Thráin admitted, “Not at all, yet I am afraid that I am not familiar with the steps. And while a king is allowed to make merry, he is a little reluctant to make a fool of himself by bumping into the other guests.”

Offering her hand, Adamanta reassured him, “Have a little faith in your new family. I promise, my Lord, I won’t let you fall.”

For a mere moment, Thráin seemed to think about the offer, then he simply smiled and took the lady-hobbit’s hand. Judging from everything he had seen and heard about Adamanta Took, she would have made a good queen. She already made a supportive, yet strong wife for the thain. Everything told him that she was worthy of his trust and within mere moments, as the smaller lady held on fast to his stronger and wider form, she proved herself worthy of his reliance. Not once did she allow him to stumble or step into the wrong direction and the king had to admit that it really WAS fun to dance like the hobbits.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

After several more songs, when finally every last guest was out of breath, the hobbits decided that they had danced enough and that it was time to continue their meal. That a good deal of it had already gone cold didn’t seem to bother anybody. Although the next course was meant to be the dessert, the hobbits showed the dwarrows how to heat up leftover pieces from the main meal, simply by holding them over the various flames that illuminated the tables. Because while hobbits loved their lively time inbetween the courses, they enjoyed their times at the tables even more and saw to their meals with utter devotion.

After another hour, when many treats had been heated up and savoured, one of the highlights of the feast was finally served: a gigantic, five-tiered wedding cake. Each layer had a different coating, from sparkling white at the very top to the deepest brown at the bottom. And while the hobbit children wiggled excitedly in their seats, the dwarrows could only gape at the cake with open mouths. This feast was so much more than they had had during the last few years, and each and every one of them enjoyed it tremendously. But this cake, the flour, butter, sugar and obviously chocolate, all those treats had been an unachievable luxury ever since they had come to the Blue Mountains.

Soon the few dwarf children who were allowed to participate in the party were zoning in on the cake, just like the fauntlings. Sitting in front of it, looking up at the artfully presented delicacy, they all looked at Bilbo and Thorin as if they held the key to the greatest treasure imaginable. And truthfully, they did, because none other but them was allowed to cut the cake and serve it to their guests, the second tradition both races had in common.

Unable to let the little ones wait for long, the hobbit and his dwarf rose from their chairs and approached the cake. Offering a long knife to his hobbit, Thorin asked, “Would you do the honours, Bilbo?”

Yet his beloved smiled and reached for his husband’s hand. “We will do it together.”

Smiling down at his hobbit, Thorin nodded and stepped behind him. Covering the small fingers with his broader ones, both carefully started to cut a slice from the topmost layer and put it on a plate that was offered to them by Bombur.

While Thorin was looking for forks, Bilbo broke free the first piece of their wedding cake, and when his dwarf turned around to tell the chef of the Blue Mountains that the cutlery was missing, he found himself facing his grinning husband, who offered a piece of delicious-looking golden cake with a sparkling white cream on top for him to try. Unable to resist, Thorin ate the offered treat right out of Bilbo’s fingers, licking them until Bilbo pulled them back, telling him that, thank you, his fingers were clean now.

When the hobbit reached for his handkerchief, Thorin took the plate from him, and broke another part of the cake free, holding it in front of his husband’s mouth. Having already eaten his fill, Bilbo still found his mouth water at the mere sight of the fluffy, heavenly-smelling cake.

Thorin looked so happy and so very carefree as Bilbo had rarely seen him. And when the hobbit opened his mouth to accept the cake, his new husband pulled it back and offered his lips instead. Feigning an angry growl, Bilbo narrowed his eyes, which seemed to amuse Thorin to no end, as he held the cake right above his head, dangling the ‘prize’ out of Bilbo’s reach. He allowed his spouse to pull him into a seductive kiss, only to have the plate with the slice of cake stolen from him when his attention was occupied.

Grinning triumphantly Bilbo shoved a big piece of cake into his mouth, leaving Thorin with nothing more but the mouthful he had got in the first place. Showing himself generous when his husband coaxed him with another kiss, Bilbo shared his prize. After that the two of them cut up four layers of the cake, so that everybody would get a piece from the delicious treat.

After claiming two more pieces for themselves, both Bilbo and Thorin found new places beside Bombur and Dori, complimenting the two of them for the great party they had organized and catered. It was more than obvious that everybody attending had a great time and that hobbits and dwarrows were getting along famously. Even the king seemed well entertained, animatedly sharing stories with Adamanta and several fauntlings who sat at their feet, looking up at the two grown-ups in rapt attention.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I changed the chapter title. Did you notice? I am learning Khuzdul.
> 
> Edit: The extraordinary "anixatyourservice" took it upon herself to bake a cake that was inspired by Bilbo and Thorin's wedding-cake. It's decorated with pictures from the clasps and I got the permission to include it into my story.  
> All I can say is: Thank you, that really is amazing!  
> You can find more pictures of this particular desert here:
> 
> <http://anixatyourservice.tumblr.com/post/67547751486/close-up-of-the-dog-roses-and-what-kind-of>


	17. Family and more than friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The party continues with a few special highlights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> About 29k words until now. But this is the first chapter edited and reviewed, and you all know, I wouldn't go for anything less for you. You all deserve the best work I can give you and that entails the help of my brilliant betareader Redone!

Once the cake was consumed, Dori called for a few dwarrows with subtle gestures, organizing the setup of a small stage, where the musicians were meant to take their places to entertain the guests. More subdued than the hobbits, several dwarrows with instruments came forth, tuning their instruments, before intoning the first song.

Realizing that this was their cue once again, Thorin offered his hand to Bilbo and asked with a smile, “Ready for some dwarvish dancing?”

“As ready as I can be,” was Bilbo’s cheerful answer, before he allowed Thorin to pull him to his feet, guiding him towards the middle of the dance-floor. This too was part of the official wedding ceremony. The song was more of a ballade, telling the story of the noble line of Durin, praising their honour, their endurance and their nobility. The steps of the couple were meant to visualize the story and it had taken Bilbo quite some time to learn them, even with Dori being a particularly patient teacher who had praised his agility and talent to encourage him.

Now that he was out here, dancing beneath the stars that were slowly coming out, it didn’t seem as complicated to him any more. The music, his husband leading him through the steps, dancing in the shadows of the Mountains, suddenly he didn’t have any problems remembering all the steps. The pride in Thorin’s eyes told him that he did perfectly.

When the other dwarrows joined them, Bilbo stepped closer to his husband, partly to give the others more room, but mostly because he didn’t wish to be parted from Thorin. It was a wonderful party and he was happy that his family and friends where here, but for a few blessed moments, he wished to have his husband all to himself.

 

Dís and Dwalin – yes, her father had protested but the princess had insisted that she would dance this traditional dance with nobody else but the tattooed warrior – held each other in a fast embrace, looking at Bilbo and Thorin with an adoring smile. Quietly Dwalin rumbled, “How Thorin can NOT be aware that his hobbit is head over heels in love with him remains a mystery to me. Even a blind dwarf could see the devotion in Bilbo’s eyes whenever he is around your brother.”

Smiling up at Dwalin, because he voiced her thoughts nearly perfectly, Dís deliberated, “I have to assume that this is a wide-spread problem in our population. Most male dwarrows seem utterly oblivious when it comes to the true feelings of their intended.”

Grumbling lowly, because the guard was all too aware what Dís was referring to, he protested, “How could I have ever thought that you would even look at me that way, ghivasha? I am nothing but a guard. True, our family is of the line of Durin, but that hardly puts me on equal footing with someone of royal blood.”

Pulling Dwalin closer, so that their foreheads touched, Dís repeated herself, “Utterly oblivious! Would you have opened your eyes sooner, we could have found each other ages ago.”

Kissing his beloved on said forehead, Dwalin reminded her, “You were grieving for your husband. You were happy with him and he deserved your loyalty. He was good to you, I could always see that, and believe me, he was under my scrutiny all the time!”

Pulling Dwalin closer, pointedly ignoring the warning glares from her father, Dís spoke into his chest, so that only he could hear her. “You were right. We were happy. He gave me the greatest gifts imaginable: my sons. And I mourned him, as a good wife is supposed to. I was never unfaithful and always stood by his side, no matter what.” Looking up, she admitted quietly, “But I am happy now, âzyungâl. And I deserve this, because my soul never belonged to him.”

Dwalin kissed his princess most reverently and they both enjoyed the rest of their dance in silence, until Dís’s father approached them and politely asked his daughter to honour him with the next dance. Dwalin did very well notice the looks the king threw him, but he also noticed that they were far less heated than the angry glares he had received at the beginning of autumn. Maybe the king would come around in a few years and he and Dís would have a future together. They were both still young after all.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

After the traditional dance, several dwarrows dared to ask Thorin for permission to share a dance with his hobbit. Presenting himself as the ever-generous groom, the prince always stepped aside when that happened, watching his consort share several dances with his family and friends. He didn’t need to be jealous any longer, because he had the written proof that he and Bilbo belonged to each other now.

Even Fíli and Kíli stole his hobbit from his side once, but he couldn’t begrudge them their time with Bilbo. They all had worked so very hard to get here. He remembered their untiring support, them finding another place for the night so that he and Bilbo could have some “alone” time. The first night with his husband that came from it. The crisis he had caused the next morning and their – in Kíli’s case rather violent – but ceaseless support so that Thorin could make it up to Bilbo. So after everything, he was happy for them that they could easily sweep their hobbit off his feet, several times quite literally.

Even after three dances Bilbo was still laughing and having a good time, so Thorin saw no reason to come to his rescue. He shivered slightly: it was getting late and summer was over. So he couldn’t supress a smile when Adamanta Took placed his abandoned coat on his shoulders. Obviously Bilbo’s grandmother had foreseen that he and Bilbo would need their overcoats and had brought them with her from the mountains. He really should have expected that. What he could never have expected was the harp that was offered to him by Gerontius.

The Old Took had put his arms around his wife, gently smiling up at his grandson-in-law. “Your father told me that you are quite good with it, and to be honest I would love to hear you play. Bilbo has told us that you have a wonderful voice. I don’t assume that you want to sing in front of such an audience, you certainly never did in the Shire, but please, play something for us. I am sure the musicians wouldn’t mind you join them.”

Nodding his consent, Thorin took his harp from the Old Took’s hands. He guessed that his father had urged Nori to find it in his quarters and bring it along. Usually the dwarven prince found joy in singing and playing, but during the last few months he had neither had the time nor the inspiration for it.

Knowing the talent of their eldest prince, the other dwarrows made room for him, continuing their song, while Thorin was tuning his harp. No instrument liked to be neglected for a whole season, not even one as well kept as his harp.

When he was satisfied with the sound, he joined in the current song, smiling more and more with every moment as the notes started coming back to him ever so easily. As always, once he picked up his instrument, he found himself remembering how much fun he had when making music. Soon he was morphing one song into another and the other dwarrows followed his lead effortlessly. He laughed when his sister demanded a special song, and grinned at his nephews when they did the same, and after a little while even his father made a request. All the while he watched his newly wedded husband dancing with dwarf after dwarf, laughing and enjoying the celebration.

Midnight was approaching, and the crowd was thinning, mostly because some hobbits and a few dwarrows had already left to see their children off to bed. Thorin had been lost in his music for a little while, and had paid no attention to his husband. When he looked up again, searching him in the crowds, he found him laughing with another hobbit, twirling around and around on the dance-floor.

Thorin chose to ignore the sharp stab of jealously that went down his spine, when seeing his husband in such a close embrace with another hobbit. Bilbo had never told him who he had shared his first time with. Maybe the smiling hobbit with the dark curly hair had been his husband’s first lover and that’s why they were so familiar with each other? Would Bilbo see his former lovers again, entertain them on his wedding day? Of course he would! What should keep him from it? It was not as if his and Thorin’s relationship was any different than his previous ones. It was all about the fun. Bilbo had explained that to Thorin at great length. And even though Thorin was absolutely sure that his hobbit would never, ever cheat on him, he felt quite uncomfortable at the thought of Bilbo having fun with someone else with whom he had such an intimate history.

It took Thorin some time to realize that he had played along automatically neglecting to pick up the lead again. But the other dwarrows didn’t seem to think anything of it. Actually they were smirking a little, realizing that he was looking for his husband, a husband that had vanished without a warning. The other hobbit was talking to a small lady-hobbit, offering her a jug of ale. But Bilbo was …

“If I asked you, would you sing for me?”

Perplexed because his hobbit had miraculously appeared at the foot of the stage, looking up at him with a tender expression, Thorin found himself unable to do anything but nod. Suddenly all of his worries seemed stupid and petty. Because no matter with whom Bilbo had spent his time in the past, he was married to Thorin now. By choice! Bilbo had chosen Thorin. True, he had done so to help the dwarrows, but the prince would hold on to that thought, whenever the next sting of jealousy would make itself known.

Crouching down to be closer to his lover, the prince asked quietly, “And what would you like to hear, my husband?”

Grinning slightly Bilbo stated, “You like calling me that, don’t you?”

Flushing a little, because honestly Thorin DID like calling Bilbo his husband, if only to reassure himself that it was all real.

Noticing the slight embarrassment, Bilbo reached for Thorin’s hand, gently placing a kiss on his knuckles. Softly he whispered, “From this day forth I AM your husband, nothing wrong with enjoying calling me that, my sweet.”

Thorin smiled down at him, slightly more at ease now, patiently waiting for his hobbit to choose a song. Gerontius Took had been right, he didn’t particularly fancy singing in front of an audience. But Bilbo was no ‘audience’ and if his hobbit wished to hear him sing, he would entertain him. He knew that his husband had chosen when a reluctant smile tugged at the hobbit’s lips.

 

Bilbo was well aware that the song he wished to hear was not one fit for celebration. But midnight had passed and in the Shire he and Thorin would have already retreated to their quarters. For dwarrows these traditions seemed to be different and for once he didn’t mind adapting to them. Looking around he realized that even the band had stopped playing, awaiting his decision. Slightly nervous because of the unexpected attention, he said in a low voice, “The first time you sang was in Bag End. Not even two weeks had passed since your arrival and I’d read to you an ancient story of a long lost kingdom of men. After that you started to sing. I don’t know the name of the song but I recollect the contents. You sang of deep caverns and blazing fires. I can’t remember all of the words but I know that on this very day I started to fall in love with your voice. Can you remember the song?”

Looking at his father who had approached them when the hobbit had asked his son to sing, asking wordlessly for his approval, Thorin smiled in relieve when Thráin nodded slowly. Of course they remembered this song. It had been the heart-song of their memories ever since arriving at the Blue Mountains. Lowly his father started to hum. Then his nephews started as well, after them Dwalin and his brother Balin, one by one all the dwarrows around them joined in, before Thorin started to sing in his deep voice, looking at his beloved.

“Far over the misty mountains cold  
To dungeons deep and caverns old  
We must away, ere break of day  
To seek the pale, enchanted gold …”

Bilbo didn’t know why he had troubles breathing whenever he heard Thorin sing these words. His husband was right, this was the song he had had in mind, but here, at the foot of the Blue Mountains with all the other dwarrows who sang with him, these words seemed infinitely sadder. When the last note vanished into the night air, Bilbo touched his lover’s face and whispered brokenly, “I am sorry. I didn’t want to make you all sad.”

Yet Thorin only shook his head and pulled his hobbit closer, burying his face in his husband’s curls, inhaling the scent of earth and sunshine and the faint memories of lavender. Turning around, when Thorin gave him a little room, his back pressed to Thorin’s chest, Bilbo addressed the king and expressed his regret again. “I didn’t realize that it was such a sad song. I apologize for asking for it.”

But Thráin only smiled faintly. Having held his nephews close while singing, he now kissed Fíli and Kíli tenderly on the forehead before releasing them. Both reached for each other and approached the stage, leaning against the wood close to their hobbit as if to show him moral support. The king just said, “I hear my son’s beautiful voice far too seldom. So no matter what you had asked for, I would have found joy in hearing it, so don’t apologize for it, Master Baggins.”

Nodding towards the musicians, the king decided, “But now enough of these sad thoughts. We are here and this is a celebration. Music please! Today is a day and night to laugh and make merry.” With that he approached Bilbo’s grandmother once again, and after a respectful glance towards her husband, bowed low before her, before guiding her to the dance floor to sway in rhythm with the music.

 

Seeing the hobbit with the dark curls again, this time dancing with the pretty lady-hobbit to whom he had offered the drink before, Thorin sat down on the stage so that he wouldn’t have to let go of his husband. He was lost in thought. At least until Bilbo nudged him, offering a drink. “What are you thinking about, Thorin?”

Taking the drink gratefully, checking the contents for blossoms (you could never know, one time drugged out of his mind was enough, thank you very much), Thorin took a calming sip of the freshly tapped ale. After a moment’s hesitation, he shook his head. It would do no good to reveal his thoughts to Bilbo. Surely the hobbit wouldn’t approve of his jealousy, not on their wedding day.

Yet his hobbit was unwilling to give up that easily. Something was bothering his husband and he was determined to find out. Stealing the mug from Thorin’s hands, taking a mouthful before giving it back, Bilbo stated mock-sternly, “Not ten hours ago, you promised to serve and obey me. Now obey and tell me what you were thinking!”

Smiling at the quite interesting way to twist the wedding vows, Thorin protested, “That is NOT what these words are standing for and you know it. It is NOT nice of you to abuse them this way.”

“Maybe it is my heart’s desire to know what you are thinking. Did you ever think about that?” Bilbo shot back instantly. Obviously it was not too late – or too early, depending on the view – for his hobbit to enter into a verbal sparring match.

Tilting his head, Thorin asked, “Is it?”

“No,” Bilbo admitted reluctantly, before adding, “You were just looking worried and I wanted to know if I can do anything to ease your mind.”

Sighing slightly, because obviously Bilbo wouldn’t let this one slip, Thorin admitted, “I was pondering if this hobbit over there was your … your first.”

Looking at his dwarf, completely perplexed, Bilbo turned around to look at the hobbit in question. “Why would you think that?”

Thorin shrugged his shoulders awkwardly. “I saw the two of you dancing before. You seemed so familiar, embracing and laughing together. But now he is dancing with that little hobbit-lady and he is looking at her like …”

“Like she hung the sun, the moon and the stars?” Bilbo asked with a small smile. “Maybe he is looking at her that way, because he is madly in love with her. Primula and my cousin Drogo are engaged and with their parents’ blessing they will be the first couple to marry next spring. Drogo asked me to be his best man, but being entangled here, I refused. Now our friend Otho will stay by his side.”

Nodding slowly, Thorin looked over the thinned hobbit crowd. He would always ask himself who Bilbo had shared himself with for the first time. He considered that event significant enough to be kept in mind. Would he ever be able to compete with this unknown hobbit? True, Bilbo had told him that his first time had been horribly clumsy, but he was bound to have gotten the hang of it.

Once again Bilbo’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts when the hobbit asked quietly, “This is really bothering you, isn’t it?”

Putting down his jug of ale, Thorin shook his head determinedly. “No not at all! You have told me that you don’t wish to share this information and I will respect your wishes. It is not that much of a deal after all. It was in your past, wasn’t it? Do you want a drink for yourself? I will get another ale, my cup is empty.”

“Thorin?”

When the dwarf reached for his mug he felt his husband’s warm hand covering his fingers. Once again he heard his lover’s soft voice. “Your cup is still half full, my sweet.”

Cursing his own inattentiveness, Thorin let go of it and turned around, avoiding his hobbit’s gaze, because honestly, what could Bilbo do when confronted with such unwarranted jealousy?

Plastering his back to his newly wedded husband’s front again, turning the both of them towards the dancing couples, Bilbo gestured at a tall hobbit with raven hair, who held a lady-hobbit in his arms who looked like she was at least six months pregnant. Pulling his dwarf’s arms around his middle so that he would not dash off, Bilbo explained, “That is my cousin Adalgrim Took and in his arms the lovely Lira Took née Proudfoot. They married two years ago and are expecting their first baby this winter.”

“They make a nice couple. I made their acquaintance over the summer. They seem to love each other very much.” Confused by the change of topic, Thorin said the first thing that came to his mind.

The young Took and the pregnant lady-hobbit indeed made a nice couple. He had gotten to know the both of them because Lira Took was still equipping her kitchen and Thorin had been commissioned to make one kettle and several pans for her. Her husband had always paid for the dishes, but asked Thorin for small modifications, for example to make the edge of the pan slightly higher so that it could also be used as a wide pot, or for the kettle to be big enough to serve at least a dozen people so they wouldn’t need to acquire a bigger one soon. In the end the dwarf had thrown in a big cauldron, free of charge, on top of the pans and the kettle, because they had seemed skint and her pregnancy had started to show. It wasn’t as if he was in the Shire to gain money. The hobbits were always paying him generously so that he could allow himself an item free of commission now and then.

Thorin could hear the smile in Bilbo’s voice when the hobbit asked in a whisper, “Then why are you envious when Adalgrim and me both are married to the person we have set our hearts on?”

Looking at the couple once again with wide eyes, Thorin stammered, “So he … and you … but he has … Lira is …”

Turning around to look at his baffled spouse, Bilbo stated easily, “Yes she is. She is a lady and I am a guy. What happened between Adalgrim and me is in the past, just like you said. We don’t regret it, but we are not interested in each other like that any more. We are friends and nothing more. I wish him all the happiness in the world for his little family, and he gave us his blessing today as well. He is quite impressed with you, to be honest. He too was biased against dwarrows after the Fell Winter, but you changed his mind.

“So you see, Thorin, there is no need to look at all these hobbits with worry. Because right here, right now, I have all I want for my future.”

Burying his face in his hobbit’s hair once again, Thorin whispered, “I am sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

Bilbo nudged him up, sharing the tenderest kiss. “I would very much prefer you to share your worries, rather than keeping them to yourself. Because that is what our wedding vows are about. We share our lives and that means we should try to make each other happy. I can’t do that if I don’t know what concerns you. Can you do that for me? Tell me when you are bothered by something, no matter what it is?”

He remembered the very first time when Bilbo had coaxed a promise out of him. An extinguished candle had been involved and his hobbit touching him in the most intimate places. Swallowing with difficulty, because these memories conjured up feelings that were quite inappropriate when one was surrounded by people, Thorin whispered into his hobbit’s ear, “If I say ‘no’ now, will you try to persuade me like you did at the beginning of our relationship, when you caught me in the act?”

A gleam in his hobbit’s eyes revealed that Bilbo was well aware what his husband was thinking about. So he was not surprised when he wiggled back a little so that his backside caressed Thorin’s groin, whispering hoarsely, “Oh yes, I will, my dear. Believe me, I will.”

Exhaling heavily, because no matter where they were, such intimate touches always got to Thorin, he decided, “In that case, definitely no. And you will need a lot of time and effort to convince me otherwise.”

Unable to supress his laughter, Bilbo nodded. “As you wish, lover, but remember, you had it coming.”

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

Bilbo had been right all those months ago. Thorin WAS looking differently at Adalgrim, now that he knew about his and Bilbo’s shared history. But he wasn’t worried any more. He had gotten to know Adalgrim and his lovely wife quite well and he wished them well – a sentiment that both hobbits seemed to share, because they smiled brilliantly when he and Bilbo joined them on the dance-floor, pulling them in for a round dance.

The sun was nearly colouring the horizon when Thráin, Fíli and Kíli, as well as Dís, Admananta and Gerontius approached Bilbo and Thorin who were chatting with a few members of Bilbo’s family about the state of the fields and what best to do to keep them healthy and well nourished.

Smiling, because Bilbo already knew what was coming, the hobbit nudged his partner to turn around. They bid their good-nights to their friends before approaching his family. Bilbo offered his hand as soon as Fíli and Kíli brought forth a flower-chain. His grandmother and grandfather served as substitutes of his parents, and he smiled at them lovingly when they wove the end of the chain around his wrist, blessing him with the traditional words.

“Always remember, grandson, that a marriage is a fragile union. It has to be nurtured and cared for, just like the flowers in your garden. Neglect it and it will wither and die. With the mercy of the Green Lady may your union always be strong and fertile.”

Yes, traditionally these blessings were meant for a lad and lass, but Bilbo enjoyed hearing them nevertheless. Especially when Thráin and Dís mirrored his grandparents actions, carefully weaving the other half of the flower-chain around Thorin’s wrist, binding them together for the next few days. Obviously they had been trained in how to handle the flowers by Adamanta and Gerontius. The dwarrows only changed the blessings of Yavanna to Mahal, and even when it made little sense, because Mahal was the god who had carved the dwarrows from stone and had nothing to do with flowers, it still was a nice adaptation.

Fastening their hands, so that they would not accidentally tear their chain apart, Thorin and Bilbo hugged both of their families, bidding their guests a good night, before retreating to the mountains. As before, the colourful carriage that shone with sparkling thaw in the first light of day brought them back to the mountain. And once returned to their shared rooms, they both fell into Thorin’s bed, too tired to even remove their wedding attire.

Instead they simply pulled a large quilt over their exhausted bodies and snuggled together, their fingers still intertwined. They didn’t want to bring bad luck on their relationship by breaking the flower chain. Finally the blossoms lay securely on Bilbo’s stomach so that they would not irritate Thorin when he shifted in his sleep. The moment they had both found a restful position and Thorin had claimed his usual spot on his hobbit’s chest, both were out cold, sleeping off the excitement and worries that had stolen their rest before their wedding.

They didn’t hear Fíli and Kíli entering Thorin’s room, and didn’t stir when the dwarrows crawled around them, carefully covering the ventilation-shafts with a dark cloth, so that the light of day would not wake the grooms from their well-deserved rest.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 


	18. Unexpected Presents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was a wedding, there are bound to be presents. Some of them will be HUGE!!!  
> Others are quite small, say the size of a hobbit's wrist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My betareader is Estonian in origin and she pointed out to me that "Onar" is the Estonian word for ... well let's be plain ... for 'wanker'. That's too much fun to NOT share. 
> 
> I am aware that this chapter blasts all my previous boundaries of words per chapter. Yet I have to be honest with you. I wrote them rising in the morning, going through their routines and right into the tub. Bilbo was revealing his present and it was perfect. The problem was: 2.600 words, to short! :(  
> So I included the presents. Now 5.400 words. I how you won't mind but I really wanted the chapter to end the way it did, it was too beautiful to have it any other way.

A loud rumpus in the hallway woke both Bilbo and Thorin, leaving them blinking in bewilderment. When the door to Bilbo’s room was opened and soft footfalls could be heard, both males looked at each other perplexed. Yet nobody came to them from the side of the bathroom and after a while the door closed again, without further interruption.

“Do you think that somebody just broke into my rooms?” Bilbo pondered, while dangling his fingers through Thorin’s unruly hair.

Revelling in his hobbit’s, his husband’s attention, Thorin mumbled sleepy, “I doubt it. Most likely someone brought breakfast or more likely lunch and didn’t want to disturb us.”

Peering up at Bilbo, because his newly wedded hobbit hadn’t said anything when he had mentioned of food, Thorin found him in a thoughtful mood. Obviously Bilbo was torn between the thought of breakfast and … well, “What are you thinking about?”

Tipping Thorin’s nose, the hobbit admitted, “I am unsure whether I should favour breakfast over a hot bath or the other way around.”

Turning around, so that he was looking down at Bilbo, Thorin asked with an impish grin, “Why ‘or’?”

Trailing down his husband’s chest, opening the buttons of his shirt one by one, Bilbo offered, “Maybe because what I have in mind for the tub doesn’t go with breakfast on the side?”

Pulling his husband from his bed enthusiastically, Thorin decided for him, “Bath first, breakfast later.” Only to have a highly amused hobbit by his side, who held on to him at the very last moment to keep the flower-chain from breaking.

Sheepishly Thorin looked down at the blossoms. “Ahm … how are we going about with that on our wrists?”

“Carefully,” was Bilbo’s sole answer, before the hobbit pulled Thorin along towards the bathing chamber to start the bath.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

When Bilbo entered his room to get fresh clothes he stopped in the doorway, swearing loudly. Instantly Thorin put a hand on his shoulder looking at him with worry, only to have his eyes lighten up when he saw the stack of presents stored there. Bows and satchels could be seen anywhere, and when Bilbo followed a red ribbon that ran from his bedroom through his living area and stopped right in front of his kitchen, his breath hitched.

Behind a heavy curtain, which was now held to the side by pieces of said ribbon, a completely renovated kitchen was waiting for the hobbit. For once Thorin had problems keeping close to his husband, because as soon as Bilbo had stepped over the threshold, he started opening and closing doors and drawers and inspecting the neatly arranged pans that hung overhead of the cooker. He admired with awe the carefully stashed cutlery, spoons and forks beside sharp cooking knives, before his breath caught when he inspected the content of the overhead cupboards.

His mother’s tea set was standing there, just like it had in Bag End, even the cups’ handles where aligned the same way. For a moment it was as if the hobbit was back in his smial, because the smell of freshly burned wood and furniture-polish filled his senses and when he put his hand on the oven he found it to be slightly warm. Obviously Fíli and Kíli – because truly no one else could have pulled this off – must have prepared his kitchen to his liking. When he inspected the lower cupboards he found a complete set of plates and bowls; even the big wooden bowl that the boys had made for him at the beginning of the summer was there.

Turning around, he found a tall new cupboard on the small side of the room, facing the highly polished sitting area. Opening the small doors, he discovered it to be stacked with fresh foods as well as provisions for baking and cooking. The only thing lacking were copious amounts of meat, ham, eggs or fish because those things had to be stored in a cold place and Bilbo’s new kitchen was toasty warm. Though there were a few pieces of ham and half a dozen eggs, if Bilbo wanted to make breakfast or bake something.

Lastly inspecting the sitting area, Bilbo found that the table left nothing to be desired, wide and sturdy as it should be, and the benches that surrounded it from two sides where cushioned with the most colourful pillows. Thorin’s nephews had even thought to put a plate with fresh apples in the middle of it, neatly sitting on one of his mother’s doilies.

When Bilbo finally turned around, he was practically vibrating. His eyes were shining like the sun. Thorin could only laugh out, overjoyed because he could practically see the gears in his lover’s head turning, planning their breakfast, their lunch, dinner, the meals for the next day, the next week, the entire month! Closing his arms around the hobbit, Thorin rubbed his bearded chin over Bilbo’s neck, earning a snicker from him.

“You are already planning what you will be cooking for everybody, admit it, lover,” Thorin rumbled good-naturedly.

With a slight nod Bilbo returned the hug fiercely, before admitting hoarsely, “Yes, this is … this is more than I could ever have imagined. To have a kitchen again, and not just a simple kitchen but a fully stocked one, ready for me to work in. I … I don’t know what I can do to make it up to them.”

Pleased by Bilbo’s reaction, Thorin tenderly caressed his cheek, whispering warmly, “This is their wedding-present. You don’t have to do anything to make it up to them, just share your joy. Though, I think they wouldn’t say no to a batch of your famous cookies.”

“But … but I am the groom. I was the one handing out the presents. That’s what the almonds where there for,” Bilbo said, confused. Why where these dwarrows always insisting on giving gifts when they were supposed to be the receivers?

Brushing his thumb over Bilbo’s soft skin lovingly, Thorin told him, “It’s different with dwarrows. We believe that days like birthdays and weddings are special occasions. And that the bridal pair, or in our case grooms’ pair, or the birthday boy or girl, should receive the presents. To show them how very much we appreciate them.”

“That’s why the guests are attending. Why they go through all the trouble of travelling to your parties, to show you that you are important to them. Having my family with me on our wedding day was the most sensational gift they could have given me. And it was such strenuous travel for them, too. The satchels with the almonds were but a small compensation for their troubles.”

Smiling at his stubborn hobbit, Thorin explained, “But you are not surrounded by hobbits any more, Bilbo. We dwarrows have a different view of things. That’s why there are presents stacked in your room, because our entire family and many of your friends wanted to show you how special you are.”

Grinning up at Thorin, Bilbo asked with an impish smile, “Only me?”

“Well, we have to find out if there are some for me as well by opening them. What do you think, should we go for it?” Thorin offered his hand and together they returned to Bilbo’s bedroom. A small table, as well as the two armchairs where covered in presents. Excited and curious of what they might contain, Bilbo sat on the floor before a small flickering fire, pulling the first present into his lap, while Thorin coaxed the small flames back to life, so that they would not freeze when sitting on the floor.

The dwarf couldn’t help but laugh out loud, when Bilbo tore away the wrapping to reveal a big book, bound in shining brown leather. The card that accompanied the present said that Master Kiron had chosen the best book for Bilbo to learn about the traditions of his new home and that Ori had copied it for him, adding explanations for passages that where difficult to translate.

The next one – a book too, as Thorin noticed – held a note from Balin, saying that Bilbo should only open it when alone. Sharing a shrug with his new husband, Bilbo set the book aside without opening it and reached for another present. It was so heavy that it would have fallen off the table, had Thorin not reached out at the very last moment. To move it was more difficult than either of them could have anticipated, bound together as they were.

Inspecting the complicated lock, Bilbo looked at Thorin in confusion, only to have his husband smile at him. “It’s part of the gift. You are only worthy of receiving it, when you are clever enough to open the lock. It is of dwarven make, it will not be easy.”

Eying the lock with interest (Bilbo had always been fascinated by puzzles) he asked, “Do you know what it contains?”

Shrugging, the dwarf reached for the small chest, shaking it from side to side, listening to the contents. “Coins … jewels … I think I can also hear a chain moving around somewhere, but I can’t be sure.” Grinning at Bilbo, he added, “I think it would be much easier if you opened it.”

Confused why someone would present him with money and valuables, Bilbo set the chest aside, reaching for the next box. It turned out that Bombur had presented Bilbo with a tiny chest as well, containing carefully sorted cards, some of which held recipes the dwarf had learned in the Shire, as well as a few dwarvish ones that he had taught Bilbo when they had been cooking together.

The rest of Bombur’s family had also gone for quite practical presents. Bofur and Bombur together had put together a fragile-looking chest of metal, etched with flowers and vines that contained a lovingly crafted wooden comb and a sturdy brush, the former for the hair on Bilbo’s head and the latter for his feet. Apart from that there were several pieces of soap, lavender, mint and camomile, because the cousins knew that Bilbo loved these smells. The mint soap was carved into a fat little bird, the camomile soap had the shape of the most delicate camomile flower, sitting on a fat leaf (well there had to be soap left to wash) and the lavender soap, the biggest one of the trio, had the shape of a simple heart.

Bilbo smiled brilliantly at Thorin who shared his admiration for the thoughtful gifts, before setting them aside, presenting a long and quite slim package. “This one is from Dís. She asked me to be present when you opened it to explain it to you.”

Confused because why would a present need explaining, Bilbo carefully opened the box and pulled forth the most beautiful steel dagger, barely longer than Bilbo’s hand. The weapon looked sharp at the edges and had an exquisitely crafted handle that was wrapped with dark-blue leather. The small guard was etched with the most delicate ivy vines that wound their way around the metal without weakening it by going too deep. The hilt ended in a round, carefully polished blue crystal. The hobbit could imagine someone sporting an impressive bruise when hit with that part of the weapon. He didn’t even want to think about the damage the blade could cause.

In a strained voice he asked, “Why would your sister give me a weapon?” Realizing how his words could be understood as ungrateful for the present, he added swiftly, “It is beautiful of course, and I am amazed that Dís could find a craftsmen with such skill, but why would I need a blade? I’m but a simple hobbit.”

Thorin shook his head: one of these days he would have to get the thought of being ‘simple’ out of his husband’s head. “You are not simple Bilbo, and you are more than a hobbit now. You are the royal consort and with standing by my side come certain dangers. I know that you are opposed to taking another’s life and I don’t expect it from you, please believe me. But you would give me peace of mind, if you were inclined to carry this weapon on you in your everyday life. So that I know that you are armed when bad comes to worst.”

Confused and very, very careful, Bilbo turned the blade in his hands. “How can I wear it? This is not something one could put into a coat-pocket.”

With a smile Thorin pulled forth one of the last presents from the table. Bilbo found it to be from Nori and when he opened it, he found a soft, yet sturdy leather sheath inside. Mystified at the short bands that held it – those would never go around his waist – he looked up at Thorin, only to have his husband show him that it was supposed to go around his forearm. Together they decided that Bilbo would always wear it when leaving their shared quarters.

The thought of carrying a weapon made Bilbo a little uneasy, but he was willing to go through the trouble, if only to make his husband happy. Thorin seemed a great deal more relaxed, once Bilbo had agreed to carry the blade.

Following the weapon came a box full of ointments and salves, which Oín obviously had composed for Bilbo. They had talked about cures for headaches, hangovers, coughs and fevers in the Shire, and the only thing Oín that had provided in overwhelming variety had been salves and tinctures where hobbits used teas and balms made of crushed plants, simply mixed with alcohol to make the skin underneath more receptive. They didn’t cultivate such remedies like the dwarven healer did, simply because hobbits only rarely had so grave injuries and skilled healers to attend to them.

Oín’s brother Gloin had provided armour. It was tailored a little like Bilbo’s accustomed vests, only riding high on his chest. It was beautifully decorated with unobtrusive circular patterns to break the monotony of leather over leather. This, too, was an item Bilbo agreed to wear when they were having guests and he was receiving them outside of their shared rooms. The hobbit really didn’t see any need to arm or guard himself in the safety of their quarters. Thorin knew Bilbo to be oblivious to inner political turmoil that might stir up the kingdom. Yet he didn’t want to disturb Bilbo or rob him of his sense of safety when explaining it. All he wanted was for his husband to feel safe.

The last present was from Dwalin and obviously Balin had helped him with it, because Thorin recognized the penmanship. In the Shire the tall dwarf had always been interested in Bilbo’s extensive collection of maps of Middle-earth, many of them originating in Rivendell where Bilbo had been allowed to copy them. So his first present to the royal consort of the Blue Mountains was a collection of maps of his new home.

“What’s that?” Bilbo had already browsed through them and had found one map in particular, which showed the part of the mountains where they were living in. One room kept coming up, marked with a red ‘X’. Thorin who had been much more interested in the pictures of the hidden valleys, maybe there was a river or small stream to be found to … well … that would be something to think about come spring, looked briefly at the presented map. With a smile the dwarven prince revealed, “That’s the position of our training grounds. I think a part of Dwalin’s present are training lessons for you, my dear.”

It took Thorin a moment to notice that Bilbo was looking up all of a sudden. Confused by the hobbit’s reaction he asked, “What is it?”

Offering the most radiant smile, Bilbo told him delightedly, “You just called me ‘dear’.”

Putting aside the maps, Thorin carefully put his arms around his newly wedded spouse. “Well you have called me ‘my sweet’ ever since the summer. I think it justified to give you an endearment in return.” Bilbo rubbing their foreheads with a blessed smile on his face told the dwarf how very much his hobbit enjoyed that thought. Happily he set the last presents aside, pulling his husband to his feet so that they could finally have their bath.

Obviously breakfast would have to be made by them. Yet Thorin couldn’t help but look forward to the first meal he was about to prepare with his husband in their very own kitchen.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

Returning to the bathroom, Bilbo revealed the secret of how a newly wedded couple could dress and undress and see to their personal needs during their honeymoon: he simply widened the loop around their wrists and carefully placed the blossoms in one of the basins to sustain them with fresh water. “It is a beautiful tradition, but we hobbits are quite practical. Drogo told me of this way of dealing with the flowers yesterday. Traditionally the time that the couple has for themselves depends on how long the flower-chain remains intact. But if you treat them carefully, watering them every few hours, you can make it up to a week, before they start withering.”

Admiring the beautiful flowers in the basin, Thorin said, “So this tradition is nothing but a pretence? You tell everybody that you are bound together but go your own way nevertheless?”

Turning around while removing his clothes, Bilbo carefully brushed the hair on his feet and then his unruly locks, before stating, “Isn’t this common with your people too, to tell of one thing and do another? Apart from that: just because we are not bound together any longer doesn’t mean we are going separate ways.”

Admitting that this was the case occasionally, Thorin saw to his personal hygiene before lacing the water with the heavenly smelling lavender oil he had presented Bilbo with upon his arrival. After helping his hobbit into the tub, he too sank into the hot water with a groan. Truly the thought of having Bilbo for a whole week to himself was alluring. Thorin could only hope that the original inhabitants of the Blue Mountains would postpone their arrival this year. They had been informed of the wedding after all. Thorin wanted to be at his father’s side when they came to collect the taxes they had been promised for permitting the dwarrows from Erebor to stay.

Thorin snorted at the thought. These parts had been utterly uninhabited for more than a century, before their people had come along some twenty years ago. The dwarrows that had originally lived here had relocated to the southern mountains, because they found the ground there more fertile and the climate more to their liking. Like the climate would be any different a week from here! And the ground? Well, yes, the soil was a problem here. Not a single dwarf had ever thought about using the mountain terraces as fields, although weeds grew there in abundance. Maybe the former inhabitants of these walls had starved too, prior to their relocation.

 

Noticing Thorin first relax and then tense up again, Bilbo decided that this was not a good start for their honeymoon. Wherever Thorin’s mind was drifting, it was NOT towards them being together, otherwise his dwarf would not pout and snort with closed eyes. Nor would he be frowning like he had eaten something entirely unpleasant.

Maybe he had a stomach-ache? They had overindulged quite heavily yesterday. Unable to determine for himself, Bilbo decided to use the simplest way to find answers: he asked. “Thorin, what are you thinking about?”

When his dwarf opened his eyes and shot him an apologetic look, Bilbo knew that he had to do more than ask to get his husband to open up. Though he had had a pretty good plan upon entering the bathroom, sex was not the solution for everything. It might bring fast relief; but if Thorin was bothered by something, it would be better to get it off his chest, rather than have it irk him all through the week. So Bilbo nudged Thorin’s foot, gesturing the dwarf to put it on his lap, and his new husband did so, clearly wondering what Bilbo was planning.

With skilled fingers, Bilbo started to knead the soles of Thorin’s foot, reminding himself to keep the pressure low, because his dwarf did not have sturdy feet like a hobbit. On the contrary, he had adorable little feet like a very young fauntling. How cute was that? Every time Bilbo saw Thorin barefooted these days, he had to fight down the urge to reach for the small, naked toes, nibbling at them, only to find out if his husband was ticklish.

Obviously bothered by the sudden attention, Thorin tried to pull his foot back, but Bilbo held him fast. “Bilbo, what …”

“Just relax, lover. Close your eyes and relax.” That really was the best advice Bilbo could give, apart from methodically loosening the muscles and caressing the nerve endings that went through Thorin’s sole. Hobbit children only needed a few years to build up a basic tolerance against the hard roads and sharp stones of the Shire. Dwarrows never came to that point, because they used sturdy and strong boots to protect their soft feet from a very young age. Pulling up his husband’s other foot, Bilbo started to alternate the pressure, until Thorin was sinking down into the water, seemingly boneless.

After a little while, Bilbo inquired, “Now, what were you thinking about?”

Opening his eyes again, looking at his groom accusingly, Thorin stated, “You are only massaging my feet as a bait to get your answers!”

“Yes, is it working?” Bilbo didn’t even try to supress his grin, when Thorin grumbled reluctantly.

Leaning back, his dwarf divulged in a quiet voice, “I am worried about the original inhabitants of these mountains. They come here once a year, usually right after New Year, to gather the taxes we owe them for living in their mountain. Bur – their tax collector – is quite an unpleasant dwarf of high standing and usually looks down on us when gathering the jewels. Not that this comes as a surprise, seeing as how our health and strength have diminished greatly over the past few years.”

Concentrating on massaging his dwarf’s feet to relieve his tension, Bilbo asked, “I thought dwarrows had a habit of digging into their mountains, gathering the riches that are hidden. Why does he need your jewels and gold? Don’t they have any of their own?”

Snickering slightly, because the answer truly was amusing when you thought about it, Thorin mocked, “Because the southern parts of the mountains are less rich. They just have more fertile soils.”

Grinning at this revelation, Bilbo raised his chin defiantly. “Well, give us five years and our harvests will match theirs! I don’t want to be called Bilbo Baggins-Oakenshield, if I can’t get our fields to produce more harvest than theirs!”

Thorin froze at Bilbo’s words, looking at his hobbit in amazement. When Bilbo tilted his head questioningly, Thorin swallowed with great difficulty, before asking quietly, “Bilbo Baggins-Oakenshield?”

Wondering where this reluctance came from, Bilbo asked tentatively, “That is your name, is it not? And as your husband I have the right to bear it. Or am I violating a dwarvish tradition in claiming that title?”

Unable to keep his distance, Thorin pulled back his feet and crowded his hobbit towards the edge of the tub. Admiringly he put their foreheads together and whispered, “You can’t even imagine what it means to me that you are willing to bear my name, Bilbo.”

Caressing his lover’s face soothingly, Bilbo contemplated, “I take it you don’t mind?”

Pulling his hobbit closer, so that he could bury his face in the crook of his neck, Thorin took a shaky breath, stating in the language of his people, _< This makes me happier than you can ever imagine, my love.>_

He was taking a deep breath when he heard Bilbo whisper, “Westron, my sweet.”

“Not at all, lover. Not at all,” Was Thorin’s sole translation, because he still didn’t dare to admit to his feelings – not even now when they were married. Even though the chance of Bilbo rejecting him was minuscule, distance and disregard in the eyes and demeanour of his lover was more than Thorin could take. He would gladly be happy with he and his hobbit being friends and lovers. He didn’t need his love, at least not more than his company.

 

Smiling up at his dwarf, when Thorin had finally let him go, Bilbo pulled him down to sit beside him. He fidgeted nervously with the wet handkerchief that was still covering his wrist. Thorin’s admission that he loved their names to be joined made Bilbo sure that his husband would appreciate his wedding present as well. He had talked to Dwalin about this for a very long time, and the dwarf had told him everything he needed to know about the tradition of marking one’s body, and the value of family, emphasizing the family gained by marriage in the society of the dwarrows.

“Thorin, I …” Stopping himself, Bilbo took a deep breath to fight down his anxiety. If Thorin didn’t like his present, the hobbit would have a problem. But his friend Dwalin had been faithful, and there was no way back anyway. “First of all, I think that I still have to thank you for inviting my family. I can’t describe how much it meant to me, having them all by my side on a day like this.” Fidgeting with the wet cloth around his wrist, because as before with the clasps, he was not quite sure whether he had made the right choice, he soon found his fingers stilled by those of his husband.

Thorin’s warm voice washed over Bilbo, calming his husband. “You are welcome, Bilbo. I know how important family is for a hobbit and I didn’t want you to spend such a special day without them. I can’t give you back your parents, no matter how much I wished for it. But I could invite your grandparents and your aunts and uncles and their children and your cousins and even the hobbit who you shared your first time with.”

“That still bothers you?”

Taking a deep breath Thorin shook his head, right before he nodded. “No … Yes … I think it will always bother me a little. But you are mine now and I have the papers to prove it.” Realizing that he had just laid a claim on his newly wedded husband that might not be appreciated, Thorin tried to explain himself, “I didn’t mean you are mine like I own you. I am aware that it does not work this way with hobbits. You are still free to go, even after coming here, and if you wish to return to the Shire, I will follow you. I just meant the wedding papers and the public claiming and …”

Bilbo’s hands at his face stilled Thorin’s nervous babbling. He wished, wished so very much that he could own this very special hobbit. But that was not how their relationship worked. Bilbo had done him a favour by proposing, and it was his duty to show his gratitude by making his husband happy, because if Bilbo wasn’t happy in the Blue Mountains, Thorin had no way of convincing him to stay. If the hobbit left for the Shire, Thorin was bound to follow, leaving his people behind. He had made sure that the wedding contract stated that it was Bilbo’s decision and Bilbo’s alone where they would live.

His father’s neglecting the hobbits’ wishes several years ago had ended in the death of Bilbo’s parents. Thorin wouldn’t keep him from his home, not if he could help it. Bag End was the only memory Bilbo had from his youth and even though he had taken the most important memorabilia with him, his new rooms were no replacement for his smial, not even with the kitchen.

Calming himself, Thorin closed his eyes, when Bilbo was trailing his fingers through his long strands soothingly, whispering soothingly, “It’s alright, my sweet. I know what you mean. I have read the contract, or at least Ori has read it and translated it for me. We belong to each other now and that’s how it’s meant to be. ‘Serve your Happiness and Obey your Heart’s Desires’, remember? We are supposed to make each other happy, and if it makes you happy to think of me as ‘yours’, then there is nothing wrong with it.”

Holding out his hand, offering the wet cloth to his husband, Bilbo nodded encouragingly. When Thorin tried to unwind Bungo’s old handkerchief, Bilbo explained. “Regarding your possessive streak, I hope that you won’t mind. My wedding present is not as grand as yours, but I will carry it with me, for everyone to see.”

When Thorin carefully pulled back the drenched fabric, his breath caught. Bilbo’s skin was still red, because the process he had endured for him was irritating and had most likely been painful for a hobbit. Reverently touching the markings on the skin, he heard Bilbo’s explanation only with half an ear.

 

 

“Dwalin told me that tattoos are very common amongst dwarrows, that they show your clan, your prowess and your strength. You decorate your battle-scars to always remember what you have lived through. Well, I am neither brave nor strong, and my scars are not from battles, therefore not worth decorating. But from this day on, I am a member of your family and I want everyone to be able to see it. Do you like it?”

Looking down at the tattoo on Bilbo’s wrist, admiring the rune that stood for the line of Durin, the one his hobbit had already engraved into the wooden beads he had presented Thorin with, he could barely keep his emotions under control when he admired the ‘B’ rune, which was included into the artfully presented bindrune.

Swallowing heavily, Thorin needed two attempts to bring forth a proper sentence when he asked, “Those are dog-roses, aren’t they? Twelve of them!”

He more felt than saw Bilbo nod, because he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the beautiful picture that now decorated his husband’s skin. Onar was a master of his trade, Thorin recognized the work because his own tattoos had been made by the very same dwarf and he had watched the tattoo artist working on Dwalin for hours on end.

The lines of the runes were edged delicately, not solid like they would be for a dwarf. When he inspected them closely, they looked more like branches of a tree, something that worked beautifully with the twelve tiny flowers that stemmed from them. Twelve dog-roses meant ‘I am yours’ – a lesson Thorin had learned during his very first party in the Shire where Bilbo had decorated his hair accordingly. No lad or lass had dared to approach him. And even when he had brushed this off as being a dwarf, Bilbo had educated him after kissing him in the middle of the dance floor, stating a very public claim on him.

He was overwhelmed by Bilbo’s willingness to have the name of Thorin’s bloodline tattooed into his skin for the entire world to see. So when his husband confirmed his impression with a soft, “Yes they are; I couldn’t think of a flower more fitting for us,” Thorin breathed the most tender kiss on the reddened skin, before pulling his husband close, carefully securing the irritated arm between their bodies. Burying himself in Bilbo’s smaller frame, Thorin did his very best to keep himself in check, but the overwhelming implication of Bilbo belonging to him, solely to him and nobody else in Middle-earth, was more than he could take.

His breath quavering against Bilbo’s chest, when the hobbit had found a safe place on his husband’s lap, the dwarf shook with emotions and lost his fight for composure once Bilbo put his free arm around his neck, pulling him close.

Bilbo’s worries that his husband would not approve of the new embellishment of his skin, were put at ease when Thorin whispered, meeting the hobbit’s eyes with his own slightly wet ones, “Yes.”

“Yes, what?” Bilbo realized that they were repeating the very first conversation they had had in Bag End and couldn’t think of a better way of Thorin accepting his latest gift. So the hobbit waited for his husband to complete the dialog, cupping his cheeks most tenderly, when Thorin admitted, “Yes, I like it, a lot,” before leaning down for an affectionate kiss.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to draw the bindrune of Durin and the letter "B" included, with 12 blossoms of dog roses stemming from the branches. But I am not that skilful and the design was much more beautiful in my mind than I was able to put on paper. So if anybody would be able to draw it, he or she would have my eternal gratitude!
> 
> This is what I had in mind, but it is not good enough to be included into the story. At least not in my mind: http://31.media.tumblr.com/ea078f01ff4dd430740b1a9d122f2a58/tumblr_mwdi1qaqgu1s5qaczo1_1280.jpg
> 
> Edit:  
> The amazingly talented Vi had taken it up the challenge and drawn the most amazing picture of Thorin's and Bilbo's tattoo. Thank you so very much, my breath took just like Thorin's when I saw the e-Mail for the first time. It is so amazing and I want to share it with you. I had to shrink it down a little, otherwise it would overwhelm the entire chapter, you can find the original picture here: http://arrogantcatdoux.tumblr.com/post/67499621261/for-anchanee  
> Many, many thanks for this. I really don't know what to say other than: you're amazing!


	19. He had it coming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Birds, bees, butterflies and one wasp. (I'm sorry. Alright?)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you ask: Yes, Thorin is most definitely exaggerating!

It took Thorin a little while to calm down again. But once collected, the little kisses he had shared with his husband became more heated and demanding. This was the first time in … well, in over a month that they had time for themselves. Not a few stolen minutes before one of them was about to head off or lying in bed, nearly dead to the world after a draining day of work.

So they took their time. They washed each other’s hair and Thorin allowed Bilbo to use his new comb on his dark strands, sighing happily when his hobbit was untangling his hair strand by strand, until it was silky and shining, before braiding it again. Braided when wet would make the plait more resistant, an advantage Thorin kept in mind when returning the favour.

So they were both properly cleaned and groomed when they headed towards Bilbo’s rooms, because Bilbo had decided that he would new clothes sooner or later (though Thorin had opted for the ‘later’) and the fire in his room had been nurtured by Thorin, so that his rooms where much more comfortable than the dwarf’s.

Honestly the dwarf couldn’t care less towards which room to turn, so he followed his lover, sure that he would find a fitting shirt when necessary. He didn’t plan on presenting himself naked, if someone chose to disturb them on this very day; but even though his father had promised him a week of leave, Thorin was not entirely sure that nobody would come, be it to serve them a meal or to ask for their wellbeing.

He was utterly distracted from his thoughts about who would visit them during their ‘honeymoon’ and was amazed when he suddenly was facing his husband in all his naked glory, who had stopped before climbing onto the bed. After a moment’s hesitation, Bilbo crawled over the comforter and leaned against the headboard. Slowly, very slowly and unbelievably provocatively, Bilbo reached for the little clay pot on his nightstand. Once his fingers were coated thickly with oil, he painted a trail from his chest, down to his groin area. Thorin had trouble breathing, stumbling and nearly falling when crawling onto the bed himself. He found himself utterly unable to take his eyes away from his husband who was caressing first his stomach, then his thighs, edging closer and closer to his cock with every circle his fingers were drawing on his skin, leaving a glistening oil trail in their wake.

The hobbit dipped into the pot of oil twice, before he finally started touching his groin. Thorin hissed on Bilbo’s behalf, when his consort circled his cockhead in a lazy motion, spreading oil over the silky flesh. Yet when the dwarf crawled closer, Bilbo allowed him to share a passionate kiss, before pushing him slightly back, so that he was within touching distance, without actually touching. When Thorin rasped, “Why …” he was interrupted by his lover who instructed him, “Just watch.”

After having coated his cock thoroughly, Bilbo reached for more oil, glazing his balls before reaching lower. He was still leaning against the headboard, relaxed and easy as if what he was doing was nothing more provocative than writing a letter.

Thorin on the other hand gave a strangled sound, burying his fingers into the quilt next to his legs to hold himself back and not overwhelm his hobbit with a passionate kiss. Watching Bilbo pleasuring himself was nearly more than he could take and he was entirely unsure whether he would be able to follow his lover’s orders, if his hobbit continued this play for long. A moan from Bilbo made him realize that he was missing something, that he had closed his eyes to be able to draw a calming breath.

His hobbit truly was a sight to behold. Lightened by several rays of sunshine, which came through the ventilation shafts above his bed, glowing because of the light of the fire that illuminated his oily skin, he looked like the most prized treasure, like a present from Mahal himself, and it didn’t take Thorin long to lean forward again to demand another kiss. As before, Bilbo enjoyed their union, before nudging Thorin back again, to give him an unobstructed view.

And that view nearly stole Thorin’s breath away, because after having coated his lower body with a light layer of oil, Bilbo was now circling his hole, once, twice, three times, before slowly, oh so agonizingly slowly pushing one finger into his own body. This should have been awkward, maybe even comical, regarding that Bilbo’s soft figure restricted his movements, yet Thorin couldn’t tear his eyes away and instantly he wished that he could replace his husband’s fingers with his own.

Shaking his head, pulling back a little, because honestly, Thorin had no experience in these matters, so he would surely hurt his lover, he was surprised when Bilbo reached for him. Rubbing their fingers together, until the dwarf’s digits where coated with an heavy amount of oil, his hobbit pulled him closer, placing Thorin’s hand on his thigh, very, dangerously close to his back entrance.

Bilbo’s was purring seductively when he encouraged his lover, “Touch me, Thorin, just like I have showed you.”

Shaking his head empathically, he whispered hoarsely, “I can’t … I will hurt you,” looking up at his hobbit, half pleading, half desperate with desire, because truly, at the moment there was nothing he wanted more than to touch Bilbo.

Angling Thorin’s face, bestowing a demanding kiss on his husband, Bilbo decided, “You want this. And I have utter faith in you that you will pull back when I tell you that I don’t like what you are doing.” All the while he was pulling Thorin’s other hand closer to his core, guiding his husband’s hand where he desired it the most.

Only when Bilbo gave once again an encouraging nod, did Thorin pick up the courage to touch his hobbit’s backside. He had pleasured Bilbo with his mouth time and again; he was familiar with his husband’s body. He didn’t need to look to know that he was brushing over the puckered entrance, carefully pushing stronger until the tip of his finger entered Bilbo’s body.

Both he and Bilbo hissed at the sensation: Bilbo because Thorin’s digit was considerably wider than his, Thorin because he felt like dipping into a furnace. Bilbo’s muscles around his finger where hot and constricting, yet brushing his oily fingers over Thorin’s hand again, Bilbo urged him on: “Move it, my sweet. You won’t hurt me, I promise.”

Unable to resist such a charming command, Thorin started to move his finger with maddening slowness. For the first few moments Bilbo held absolutely still, yet after a little while, Thorin could feel Bilbo’s fingers beside his own once again, slick with oil, entering the hobbit’s body alongside with him. When he tried to pull back, Bilbo held him close with his free hand. Hesitant, still afraid that he might hurt him, Thorin waited, until Bilbo was moving his finger again, before he joined the movement.

It was unbelievable what a hot sight Bilbo was making. His face was flushed and his body was quivering lightly due to the strain. Or due to the desire their combined fingers were waking in him, because he could see his hobbit’s cock leaking all over Bilbo’s soft stomach. Pulling back slightly, Thorin lowered his head to circle his tongue over the glistering head.

He really couldn’t have anticipated the reaction, otherwise he would have put his free hand soothingly on the body beneath him, because as soon as his tongue touched Bilbo’s erection, the hobbit arched up to get more contact, nearly choking Thorin, moving back after realizing that, taking his lover’s fingers deeper than before, groaning blissfully.

After only a little while, the hobbit demanded, “Another finger, Thorin, I am ready.”

Still vaguely scared to stretch Bilbo’s body too much, Thorin allowed him to coat his second finger, before taking the place Bilbo’s hand had occupied before. Entering his lover, enjoying the hot skin that clenched him, Thorin tried to remember Bilbo’s actions, when his hobbit was preparing him for intercourse. Feeling around a little, the dwarf grinned triumphantly when he found Bilbo’s sweet spot, making Bilbo arch up with a powerful growl. Attacking it mercilessly, nipping on his husband’s cock occasionally, the dwarf enjoyed each shudder and every noise he was able to coax from his lover.

He needed very little incentive to let the two fingers be joined by a third, reaching for the oil himself this time, watching Bilbo present his body in the most delicate manner. He was overwhelmed by the reactions he was able to bring forth. Never in all their time together had Bilbo reacted that strongly, not even when Thorin had blown him before. Yet before the dwarf could bring his lover to completion, Bilbo pulled back his head, looking into his eyes, his demeanour determined albeit strained. “That is not what I was aiming for.”

Crouching closer, so that their chests were nearly touching, Thorin asked breathlessly, “Then tell me what you want. If it’s mine to give, it shall be yours.”

Grinning mischievously, pulling back his groin so that they separated, Bilbo pushed Thorin back on the bed, crawling over him, shivering slightly. Growling lowly, like a predator watching his prey, the hobbit stated, “First of all, I want you to promise to share your worries with me. Promise me, Thorin.”

Groaning desperately, remembering their conversation from yesterday, Thorin had to admit that he REALLY had it coming. There was really no way to resist his hobbit’s demands in his current state of mind. Bilbo would persuade him sooner or later, especially when using this tactic, better to give in now when his hobbit was still amicable. “I promise, Bilbo.”

His reward was his husband, towering over him, their bodies less than an inch apart, staring down at him with hair wet and shining like copper in the firelight, his pupils blown wide with arousal. Sliding their bodies together, Bilbo was more moaning than saying, “Now I want you to take me. You have prepared me sufficiently and this is the day after my wedding. Take me, Thorin, claim me as yours. I know you want it!”

Closing his eyes in apprehension, whimpering quietly, because he could think of nothing more desirable than what Bilbo was demanding, Thorin had to lock down all of his muscles so as to not overwhelm Bilbo with his needs. His lover was fragile, so much more fragile than a dwarf he simply couldn’t risk it. So he voiced his worries from between clenched teeth, “By Mahal, Bilbo, no! I could injure you. You are so much smaller than me. The thought of hurting you is unbearable too me. You don’t know how long I have dreamed about this but, I can’t. I’m sorry.”

Bilbo’s soft hand on his cheek made him look up again. Tenderly his hobbit was smiling down at him, promising comfortingly, “You won’t, Thorin. You have prepared me sufficiently. Please, lover, trust me. Go nice and easy, and everything will be alright. Should I feel the slightest bit uncomfortable, I will tell you immediately, I promise.”

Gazing up at his small lover, Thorin could only nod when Bilbo so readily convinced him. The truth was, his mind had conjured up images of himself buried deep inside Bilbo ever since the hobbit had first started to touch his backside. No, ever since making love to him in the stream in Hobbiton. But he had never dared to think them possible. Now these images were close to becoming reality, and for a moment Thorin really wasn’t sure what he should do, was the gain really worth the risk?

Luckily Bilbo was more than ready to lead the way. Kissing his husband deeply, delving into his mouth, Bilbo crouched back, bit by bid, until his loosened entrance came in touch with the tip of Thorin’s cock. Opening his eyes wide in amazement, Thorin breathed out noisily, when his hobbit reached back, angled his erection and started to sink down on it.

Even though Bilbo had done this before, accepting Thorin into his body was nearly more than he could take. Yet he had been carefully prepared and knew that he would not hurt himself. So he simply used copious amounts of oil and more time than ever before when lowering himself on his husband’s groin. When their bodies where finally fused together, both Thorin and Bilbo were holding their breath. The sensation was unparalleled. Bilbo had never before felt so full and Thorin, inexperienced in the ways of love prior to Bilbo, seemed to bask in the sensation of his lover surrounding him from all sides.

The dwarf forced himself to draw deep and even breaths, because the desire to move was nearly overwhelming. Yet he could feel that his hobbit had not adjusted to the intrusion, so he did his very best to remain absolutely motionless, even if it was driving him crazy.

When his husband finally started to move, it was the best sensation he had ever felt. Still unsure what to do, he did his very best to relax and allowed Bilbo to decide on the speed and the depth of their union. Yet when his husband rotated his hips, drawing as much pleasure as possible from their contact, Thorin frantically stilled his hips, because truly, he had just started to see stars.

Raspingly he begged, “Stop this, Bilbo, please! I can’t hold back if you are doing this. This is more than I can take.”

He looked up in surprise when his husband laughed at him. “And who said that you are meant to hold back? This is about having fun, Thorin, don’t you remember? What do you want to do?”

Arching up, finally allowing himself to push into his hobbit, Thorin pulled Bilbo closer, burying his face in the crook of his neck, whispering throatily, “I want to drive into you, touch you, claim you, but …”

A sharp bite at his ear made him shut up, only to hear Bilbo’s alluring voice demand the next moment, “Then do it!”

When they separated, Thorin looking up at his hobbit to see if he had been serious, Bilbo only nodded encouragingly. “I am not made of glass, Thorin. Take me! That’s what this is all about.”

Unable to rein himself in any longer, Thorin wrapped his hand around his lover, before turning them both around, so that he was on top, lying in the vee of Bilbo’s legs, immediately he felt them wrap around his waist, urging him closer. When he first drove into Bilbo he felt like losing the last shreds of sanity. Nothing, nothing in this entire life had ever overwhelmed him as much as taking his hobbit. Thorin’s entire universe decreased to the size of this amazing creature beneath his loins and all of a sudden all of his worries were forgotten.

With strong and powerful strokes he buried himself in Bilbo’s core, again and again and again. Partially he registered the encouragements and kisses his hobbit bestowed upon him, yet he pushed them all aside as distractions.

His desire sent sparkles through his entire body and when Bilbo claimed his mouth just like Thorin was claiming his body, he was helpless to resist it. Needily his hands reached for his lover’s body, gripping his hips ever so tightly, grasping for his shoulders to pull him closer. Everything, his entire world, his entire existence contained solely Bilbo and Thorin’s burning need for him.

When Thorin felt his orgasm starting to roll over him like an avalanche, he pulled back his mouth from Bilbo’s and buried his face in his hobbit’s shoulder, digging his teeth into the warm flesh to get as much of his lover as possible. He noticed that Bilbo was following right behind him because warmth was pooling between their bodies. This was the best he had ever felt and Thorin wished to be able to bury himself in his lover from this day forth until Yavanna took Bilbo from him.

And she would, all too soon. The Green Lady, as the hobbits called his Maker’s wife, would take Bilbo from him and Thorin would only be in the middle of his life. How could he ever bear this? How could he live without his hobbit by his side?

Pulling Bilbo even closer, trying to stay connected even when he felt his softened cock slipping from his lover, Thorin could only sob at the thought of losing him. His hobbit belonged to him. Finally after all the trials and tribulations of the summer Bilbo was his. He had even gotten a tattoo to show it, and Thorin would lose all this far, far too soon.

He felt his hobbit’s arms wrap around him, caressing his head and his back soothingly, asking worriedly, “Lover … Thorin, please, what is wrong? Are you hurt?”

Shaking his head, taking a shuddering breath, Thorin admitted, “I was thinking about your life-span, and about mine and … I don’t think I can ever bear being without you for a single day of my life.”

Overwhelmed because this was the closest thing of a declaration of love Bilbo had ever heard from his dwarf, the hobbit murmured comfortingly, “You can’t know that. The life of a dwarf is more dangerous than that of a hobbit, you said so yourself. Maybe we have fifty years together, maybe eighty or even one hundred. But maybe we will be buried by a landslide next year or die in a battle the year after. You can’t worry about the future when we have such a perfect present. You and me, we are together, right here, right now, so please stop worrying about anything else.”

Nodding reluctantly, Thorin tried to pull Bilbo closer still, before burying his head into the hobbit’s smaller frame, dozing off again, after such an overwhelming experience.

His hobbit only smiled and brushed away the worst of the stickiness that coated both of their bellies, before nodding away too, as soon as he had pulled the wrinkled quilt over their bodies.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

Thorin came around when he heard Bilbo’s stomach rumble under his ear. Blinking lazily, smiling at the sight of his sleeping husband, the dwarf paled when he saw the blood on his hobbit’s shoulder. He remembered the all-encompassing thoughts that had overwhelmed him during their intercourse, as clear as his muffling his own shouts by biting into his hobbit’s shoulder, marking him as his. At that time he hadn’t thought too much of it, but when he saw the trails of blood and tasted the metal on his lips, he felt sick.

Carefully extracting himself from his lover, Thorin padded towards the bathroom to fetch the softest cloth he could find. Forcefully he brushed his teeth and cleaned his mouth to wash away the tang. Then he returned and started to clean his husband’s shoulder anxiously. What had he been thinking, hurting his hobbit like that? He had drawn blood, by Mahal!

Bilbo stirred sluggishly when something warm and wet was touching his shoulder. He looked up in confusion, finding his husband hovering over him, warily cleaning his skin. Smiling down, he noticed the set of teeth-marks. Now he knew what had put the frown on Thorin’s face. Reaching out his hand to smooth out his lover’s forehead, Bilbo whispered, “Don’t worry, these will heal. There have been times when your back has looked worse after a night of play.”

Shaking his head stubbornly, Thorin stated, “Not like this. Never like this. Not once have you ever drawn blood from me.”

Trailing his fingers through his lover’s strands, Bilbo assured him, “It will heal. Such things happen in the throes of passion. And from your reaction I take it that you enjoyed what happened.”

Throwing away the wet cloth after having cleaned his husband’s stomach, Thorin stated, “No, not if that is what comes of it. I was …”

Pulling himself up, rubbing the remaining sleepiness from his eyes, Bilbo pulled himself into a sitting position, watching his dwarf carefully.

It took Thorin a little while to continue. Shame-faced, his voice breaking slightly, he admitted, “My line is prone to an illness of the mind called ‘gold sickness’. My grandfather fell for it and I think my father did too, if only for a little while. The Durin clan has a long history of valuing gold more than anything else, more than their people, more than their family, more than their crown.

“All my life I have sworn to myself that I would not fall for that, have favoured silver, copper and steel, less precious metals, over working with gold. Yet today I felt the pull that must have driven my grandfather towards madness. And it was you, Bilbo. Everything, all my life, my entire being was concentrated solely on you. And as a result I have hurt you, just to make you mine.

“That’s not something I can live with. Not something I can do again. Yes, you are right; I did enjoy our union, but not what came from it. I could never bear to harm you like this. You are too important.”

Calming his lover by tenderly rubbing circles over his wrists, Bilbo coaxed his head up, so that Thorin was looking at him rather than at their united hands. His dwarf had looked down the entire time when admitting to the curse of his clan. Pacifying, Bilbo explained, “It’s solely about the fun. Remember?”

When Thorin met his eyes uncertainly, the hobbit continued, “If you don’t like it, we don’t have to repeat it. If you feel like it again in a week, a month or ten years from now, we can try. Intimacy is important, but in the end it’s ‘only’ sex. And that is not worth worrying about. We have to find out what we both enjoy and pursue that. Nothing more, nothing less. Alright?”

Letting out a breath Thorin hadn’t been aware he had been holding, the dwarf nodded in agreement, allowing his hobbit to finally pull him in, rubbing over his neck in small circles to relax him. Closing his eyes, grateful that Bilbo took all of this so lightly, Thorin pulled back smiling tentatively, when he heard his hobbit’s stomach rumble again. “Breakfast?”

Grinning at his lover, Bilbo corrected him, “Lunch, more likely. Let’s find something to wear and then we will see to it that my poor stomach gets something to eat, otherwise he will be grumpy all day.”

Kissing his husband’s wrist, gently caressing the healing tattoo, Thorin helped him off the bed before retreating to his room to find some fresh clothes. He had thought himself stronger than his family’s curse. Obviously he had been wrong.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 


	20. Unexpected Problems

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What had happened at the wedding might cause problems in the kingdom. No Bilbo-Thorin interaction in this chapter. Just a king and his advisors worrying about the public opinion.

“Did you know what your brother was planning to do?” Thráin sounded irritated and tired when he addressed his daughter. They were sitting in one of the smaller parlours in the royal wing, enjoying a light lunch. After last night their stomachs needed to settle.

Dís, however, really didn’t seem to care. She had had a lot of fun yesterday and had been proud of Bilbo for finding such a cunning way around the ‘public’ part of the public claiming. She had been quite nervous herself at her own wedding and her brother surely had not been much better off.

Her husband, Víli had been as calm as one could be and had helped her through the ceremony to the best of his abilities. She had been grateful for that and yesterday had seen his actions mirrored on those of their hobbit. The public sex had not been very enjoyable for her, but she had gotten over it soon, especially because she and Víli had suspected that their wedding ceremony had actually been the moment when Fíli had been conceived.

 

This morning had been … well, it had been everything she could have wished for. She had been woken by a man who had lovingly painted invisible patterns on her skin with such gentle gestures. Had Dís decided to spread stories about her lover’s tender streak, nobody would believe her. Not when seeing Dwalin in his full gear, his usual grumpy mood and his frightening weapons on his back. Yet his kisses and touches were always affectionate. With a fond smile she had turned around. “What are you thinking about, âzyungâl?”

Looking up at the love of his life, Dwalin admitted reluctantly, “To be perfectly honest: your wedding.”

“Really?” Well that had not been that much of a leap to make after yesterday. “I am a little surprised. Regarding that you were drunk as soon as the ceremony was finished; I didn’t think that you would remember anything of it.”

Dwalin tried to turn his head away, but was immediately stopped by Dís in his attempt to avoid the subject, so he mumbled, “Can you blame me? The woman I had loved ever since I could remember was taken by another right before my very eyes. Who would have reacted positively to such an event?”

Touching Dwalin’s face gently, because she could understand the sentiment, the lady-dwarf reminded him quietly, “You never said anything. I couldn’t be sure.”

“Well, you were a princess then, you still are. How could I have ever hoped of you returning my feelings?”

When Dís brought their foreheads together, caressing Dwalin’s face tenderly the warrior was finally able to relax a little. The topic of his affection for his charges sister had always been taxing for him.  

After a little while the princess stated quietly, “You know, I was thinking about a wedding too. I was wondering if the public claiming was any different if you were in love with the man who took you.”

When Dwalin’s eyes got nearly comically big, Dís just pecked his nose, before sliding off the bed, reaching for her clothes. When she was dressed and Dwalin still seemed to be beside himself, the princess reminded him, “We are supposed to have lunch with my father. Do you really want to sit beside the king in nothing but … oh, you removed your smallclothes too.”

Tilting her head to the side, she pondered, “Maybe that is not such a bad idea. I surely would enjoy the view.”

Snorting slightly, because the LAST thing he wanted was to aggravate the king, Dwalin reached for the small stack of clothes he had stored in Dís’s room ever since returning from the Shire and made himself presentable. With a few brisk strokes of a comb, his unruly hair was tamed and he was ready to accompany his princess to the meal.

 

Returning her attention to her father, Dís shook her head. “No, my brother did not feel the need to discuss the public sex he was about to have with his spouse with me. And quite honestly I am grateful for it. Intimacy is something that should happen between two people, not in front of a mass of observers!”

“It is our tradition!” Thráin reprimanded his daughter, only to have Dís snap back at him, “I am well aware that it is our tradition and neither I nor Thorin ever attempted to circumvent it. Though I think that Bilbo gave the matter a lot of thought. As it where, the public claiming was successful and the marriage is valid. For something that comes from a contract that’s a pretty good outcome in my opinion.”

Angrily the king pointed out, “He was taken! My son, the heir of our kingdom was TAKEN by a simple hobbit!”

 

That accusation, however, was not something Dwalin could tolerate, not after his time in the Shire. After getting to know Bilbo Baggins and seeing with his own eyes how much the hobbit had done for them. He tried to get along with Dís’s father, he really tried, but these words had just shown nothing but ignorance and prejudice, so he injected quite forcefully, “There is nothing SIMPLE about Bilbo Baggins!”

When the king raised his eyebrows at Dwalin’s audacity to talk back to him in a raised voice, the warrior was ticking off on his fingers, what Bilbo had done for their people, without ever asking for ANYTHING in return!

“First of all, he invited your family into his own home, rearranged the furniture and got a new mattress, to make Fíli and Kíli more comfortable. He even bought a piece of decoration, because he thought a dwarf would enjoy metal-work over a picture of dancing fauntlings, and at that time he hadn’t even met your family!

“Second, he found occupations for everybody: work they would enjoy and help the hobbits of the Shire. By Mahal, Fíli and Kíli matured so much during this summer, simply because he had faith in them, even you have to see that when you spend next to no time with them! He trusted them with real work, trusted them with the offspring of his extended family!”

“Thirdly, when he finally found out about the reason for the Durins being in his home, he didn’t shout at them, didn’t throw them out as would have been his right. No, he offered his hand in marriage to fulfil the contract! He offered his life to your son to ensure that YOUR PEOPLE would be fed and cared for.”

“When Balin and I arrived, he gave us time to talk to Thorin, Fíli and Kíli alone, so that we could see for ourselves they all were taken care of.

“He fed us and supported us in our mission to acquire the needed food. He even travelled at Balin’s side through the entire Shire to persuade his family to sell us their food at a fair price. You have to have seen the reports and know how generous they all had been after Bilbo’s request for help.”

“And I don’t even what to start on the time and effort he had invested into the relocation of our fields here. Just so he could seed the rye he had acquired at the cost of his very own home!

“So never, EVER my king, say that Bilbo Baggins is but a simple hobbit!”

 

Instead of getting angry, Thráin had started to smile during Dwalin’s passionate speech in the hobbit’s defence. When the warrior was finally finished, he merely asked, amused, “You like him a lot, Dwalin, son of Fundin, don’t you?”

Yet before Dwalin could confirm this impression, he felt Dís’ nails digging into his skin. Completely taken aback, she asked the warrior indignantly, “What do you mean by ‘at the cost of his own home’?”

Oh, bugger. When the warrior’s face fell, realizing that this information should have been kept a secret, the princess turned him around quite forcefully, demanding angrily, “Tell me!”

“Ahm … I …” Dwalin wasn’t really sure what to do now. That was the reason why he was barely voicing his opinion. There was always something he forgot or phrased wrong. “I really shouldn’t say anything on that matter. That’s Bilbo’s decision. I shouldn’t have said anything in the first place. Can’t we forget about it?”

Realizing that this was serious, Thráin backed up his daughter, demanding in a strong voice, “No, explain what you were implying, Dwalin.”

 

Taking a deep breath – by Mahal, Nori would be so furious with him, and an angry spy never made a good enemy – the dwarf told them reluctantly. “His family, the Sackville-Bagginses, they grow this special winter-rye, something that will feed us far sooner than any normal corn apparently. So Bilbo tried to buy it for us but … but his cousin wouldn’t sell, no price seemed to him enough for a product he had worked on more than ten years. So …”

Looking at his hands, quite embarrassed at his slip of tongue, he took a steeling breath before finishing, “… so Bilbo offered Bag End as payment when gold wouldn’t do. His cousin accepted it and Bilbo has one year to clear out his smial before it will go to his cousin Otho and his wife Lobelia.”

“You mean that dreadful, ill-mannered hobbit-lass with the loud voice, the one who dresses in clashing colours?” Dís asked, stunned.

When Dwalin nodded, his treasure cursed violently, and for the first time her father didn’t bother to correct her. Instead he summarized, “So my son’s husband sold his own home to feed our people.”

Dwalin could only nod, because that recapped the events quite perfectly.

Yet the king wasn’t even looking at him anymore. Lost in thought, he stated, “So we have to do everything in our power to protect him. Not all of our people will take the events of yesterday positively. We have to keep an eye on our Bilbo Baggins. Dwalin, you will take care that he is familiar with the most basic defence techniques, should someone be stupid enough to attack him openly. Dís, you …”

“I will ensure that he is able to use the dagger I made for him.”

Dís had only wanted to give Bilbo something personal, something made with her own hands, and she was a pretty good smith when it came to small weapons. Even Nori had fancied her work when they had been in Erebor. The hobbit hadn’t struck her as the type for chains and jewellery, so she had decided on something practical. A dagger was a good weapon and had many possible uses, not all of which were violent. Yet now, Bilbo had better prepare himself to use the weapon as it was intended.

Rising from her seat because she had lost her appetite, she stated, “I will talk to the information officer. I am sure we can find a way for Bilbo to be able to defend himself.”

Approving of that plan, the king added, “When you are through with him, please send Nori to my office. I want to have a word or two with him.”

Agreeing on that course of action, the three dwarrows parted. In front of her rooms Dís stole one last kiss from Dwalin, before returning to his duties. He still regretted sharing Bilbo’s secret, but if the hobbit was better protected as a consequence, he was not too remorseful about it.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

Bilbo and Thorin had gotten through their presents, the same time Nori entered Dís quarters. He knew that there was trouble when he found the princess in full regal attire, her hair woven into an impressively high braid. She looked larger than life and quite imposing. The three peaks on Nori’s head served the very same purpose, making the information officer appear taller than he was to intimidate his opponents during an interrogation. What he didn’t fancy was her attention being solely on him as soon as he had closed the door.

In an emotionless voice Dís stated, “So I have heard about the change of living arrangements of our dear hobbit?”

Confused Nori searched his mind. To his current knowledge Bilbo was still inhabiting the princess’s old quarters. “I’m afraid I don’t understand. As far as I know, Master Baggins is enjoying his honeymoon in his and your brother’s rooms. I think he was thrilled to discover the kitchen.”

Shaking her head slowly, pushing away the question of how Nori could know that Bilbo had already found his fully stocked kitchen, Dís clarified, “I was not talking about his apartment here in the Blue Mountains.”

Nori blamed his lack of sleep that he was actually cursing when understanding dawned of what Dís was implying. Aware that deflecting would get him nowhere, he sighed resignedly. It was no use to hold back information when his princess was actually aware of what had happened in the Shire.

He was blaming Dwalin, entirely! Ever since the bodyguard had admitted to his feelings for the princess and had found them to be returned, he was turning soft. He no longer kept his distance. He even was friendly with his subordinates, something that had never happened before.

Not that that was a problem: Dwalin was still one of their most feared warriors and training with him was like a walk through dragon-fire. But where he had yelled at his trainees before, he was now still highly critical but also encouraging when they did something extraordinarily well. It went without saying that his training lessons had become more popular ever since. Well no, not popular but less dreaded and not viewed as the harshest corporal punishment available in the mountains.

So he merely ducked his head, admitting, “Yes, Milady, Master Baggins put his home on the table to acquire the winter-rye for us.”

“Why was I not informed of this?” Dís seemed very displeased and Nori could share the sentiment. He too didn’t like it when things sneaked up on him, without his knowledge.

Sighing slightly, he told her, “Because this is not my secret to share. Due to a lucky coincidence, I was right around the corner when our Master Baggins was discussing the terms of the trade with his cousin. Master Sackville-Baggins would have settled for nothing less than Bag End. I assume he would have declined even this offer, had not his wife wished to acquire this special smial for years.”

Nori knew that he was glossing over some things, but Dís had gotten to know Lobelia Sackville-Baggins. She was well aware that the sneaky and unpleasant hobbit-lass had tried to sink her claws into Bilbo’s home ever since his parents’ death.

It was too big for only one hobbit. He surely got lonely. The house needed to be filled with children and Bilbo had no prospect of having any. All the arguments for Bilbo moving out had been valid, yet none of them good enough to make Bilbo give up his childhood home. Many of the dwarrows had barged in on these discussions; rescuing their hobbit by pestering Bilbo with questions they already knew the answer to. But still they hadn’t been able to shield Bilbo from his cousin completely.

Remembering the dreadful female, Dís lost her composure and sank against her desk. In a low voice she inquired, “Why did you allow it? We came here because our home was stolen from us. Now we are allowing the same thing to happen to the hobbit, who has done everything in his power to help us? That is not right, Nori, not right at all!”

Approaching his princess, Nori awkwardly petted her arm. “There really was no other choice, Lady Dís. Even if I had stepped in, do you think that Master Baggins would have reacted any differently?”

Touching Nori briefly to thank him wordlessly for his attempt to comfort her, the princess shook her head, snickering slightly. “No, he would have demanded that you mind your own business.”

Glad that his princess had found her spirit again, Nori stated, “He would not have been the first or the last person to suggest that.”

Smiling, Dís indicated her agreement. Nori was right. From what she had seen of Bilbo Baggins, he was willing to stand up for himself, backing up his decisions, rather forcefully if necessary, especially when it came to his ideas of suitable behaviour, in his own smial or otherwise. She couldn’t help but be fond of somebody who had thrown her out of his home during their very first meeting because she had shown herself unbelievably rude. Yet he had served her tea once she had found her manners.

Nori really couldn’t have done anything, not without forcing their hobbit to back out from the trade. So now they would have to find a way to compensate him for his loss. The question was: how do you compensate someone for the loss of his home, especially if you were struggling to make a new one for yourself?

That would prove very complicated, because Bilbo was not interested in gems or gold. By Mahal, her unused kitchen had brought him more happiness than the rich rooms he had been given upon his arrival. Dís was really proud of her boys to have renovated it on such a short notice. The oven had been old and partially broken. Several mobile parts had had to be removed, mended, cleaned and polished before being reinstalled. Yet Fíli and Kíli had managed to do so in less than a week!

“We will make it up to him. It might take a while but we will make it up to him. We simply have to. I am open to suggestions, Nori.”

When the dwarf bowed once again, she continued, “Now that this is settled, please go and see my father. He is in need of your skills.”

With one last respectful bow, Nori left his princess.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

“I assume that my daughter has already talked to you about Master Baggins’s sacrifice?” the king started without preamble. He was already sitting at his desk, going through the paperwork that had piled up for the last days when he had been busy with the preparations for the wedding gift.

Like any dwarf worth his name, he had made the chest for his son-in-law all by himself and he was especially proud of the lock he had created. It was easy enough to open when … only when you could find the trick to do so. He was looking forward hearing if the hobbit had liked it.

Nodding briefly, Nori indicated that the king could continue without dwelling on that matter.

“There will be more to this than merely trying to find compensation for a lost home. Nearly all of our people saw what my son allowed his hobbit do to. I assume you were aware of this part of their relationship prior to their arrival in the mountains?” When Thráin looked up briefly, Nori gave a noncommittal shrug. Of course he had known, it was his job to know, but this was hardly the time or place to discuss Thorin’s preferences in bed.

Sighing tiredly, because he saw a whole mountain of problems piling up for them, the king continued, “I want you to spread out your feelers regarding the mood of my subjects. Are they uncomfortable thinking of this union and what it entails? Are there some ready to sabotage it?

“Bilbo Baggins is out of his depths here, and to a certain extent so are we. We can’t foresee all the problems coming from a union between a dwarf and a hobbit. We have to be careful to not destabilize the position of our family and the succession. I assume that although Bilbo will carry a great part of the responsibility for feeding our people, not everybody will like him solely because of that. People have short memories and nothing is forgotten faster than starvation when there is food aplenty.”

Understanding what the king was worried about, Nori pondered, “Well, I think the council will be among the least happy of your people. They will have to deal with Bilbo on a regular basis and he didn’t make that good of an impression when he berated them during their first meeting because they were not fast enough to decide on helping him. In the Shire discussions and family feuds can go on forever. But if there is something important to decide, like harvest or support for somebody who is in need, I have gotten to know the hobbits as quite decisive and fast to come up with solutions.

“When it comes to the different guilds, it might depend on how much they have to interact with our hobbit. The farmers are already smitten with him, because he is very knowledgeable in their line of work and he has showed himself supportive, ever since arriving here. Bombur and his people are downright besotted with him. He brought them enough food to sustain our people through the winter without them having to worry about anybody starving.

“The miners and jewellers … well, they know nothing about the Shire folk. And quite honestly I see problems from that end. Hobbits don’t value gems and gold over food and comfort. That might cause problems if Bilbo … I mean Master Baggins indicates a lack of interest in their craft. They are very vain after all, rightfully so because they are all masters of their trade and the royal consort dismissing their work might cause major problems.

“I think Master Balin gave Master Kiron, our Master of Ceremonies, quite a fright during his first meeting with our hobbit. Bilbo had indicated his displeasure with the outfits that were customary for our weddings, especially the armour. Councillor Balin might have implied that Master Baggins would not have enough time to care for our fields if Master Kiron didn’t find a way around these traditions for him.

“It all got smoother when Bilbo put a lot of effort into learning the right words along with their pronunciation for the ceremony. He gained Master Kiron’s sympathy by working tirelessly to get everything right. The same went for the wedding dance. Though Dori helped him with it, Master Kiron was quite impressed with Master Baggins’s swift uptake on the steps and his flawless repetition of them.

“I can’t say anything about the scribes’ guild, but if Ori’s fascination is anything to go by, they all will love him, be it only because he is a writer too and speaks two languages fluently.”

“Two languages?” the king had listened to his information officer’s summary with great interest, taking notes and thinking about ways of smoothing the relationships between the hobbit and his councillors.

He was looking up with interest because to his current knowledge, hobbits never left the boundaries of the Shire. So who might have taught Bilbo Baggins a second language? He dreaded to have to justify his son’s slip of judgement if he discovered that Thorin had taught him Khuzdul.

Nori, however, didn’t seem to be worried at all. Instead he explained, “Yes, Your Highness, Master Baggins is fluent in Westron, and from what I have been able to pick up, equally so in Sindarin.”

When Thráin merely raised an eyebrow at that information, Nori explained, “Elves, the children of Lord Elrond to be precise, were visiting Master Baggins during the summer. Apparently he had called upon them for help. They inspected the fields and listened to Ori’s descriptions of what was growing here, and finally suggested that we seed out rye to fertilize our fields.”

Grumbling angrily, Thráin stated, “So Master Baggins sold his home, solely because of the advice of these elves?”

Wisely Nori refrained from commenting on that statement. He too shared the dislike of his people towards these ‘tree-huggers’.

Thranduil of Mirkwood had abandoned them in the hour of their greatest need. The elves form the Grey Havens had never made a good impression either.

Yet the members of Lord Elrond’s family had shown him that not all elves where arrogant and condescending towards dwarrows. He had gained that understanding by watching these people interacting with his little brother and the young princes. Nothing about their demeanour had spoken of arrogance or dismissiveness when chatting with Ori about his beloved books or tussling with Fíli and Kíli. Quite the contrary, they had valued his brother’s opinion and had encouraged him to share his knowledge and the Durins to show off their skill.

 

When the king had finally composed himself again (the mention of elves always unsettled him), he ordered the auburn-haired dwarf, “You will pay special attention to our guilds and their impression on our hobbit. If necessary, ask help from the dwarrows who lived in Bag End over the summer. I am sure each and every one of them is willing to support you. Just be discreet about it, Master Nori. Ask only those to help you who are willing to go about this task in secrecy. First we have to find out what we are dealing with, only then can we decide on a suitable course of action.”

Bowing respectfully, Nori merely stated, “As you wish, my Lord,” before leaving the Thrain’s office.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

Going through Bilbo’s guests over the summer Nori concluded:

Bombur wouldn’t be a problem when asked for help on Bilbo’s behalf. The hobbit had been the main topic of the kitchen staff’s chatter after all, especially after the arrival of the hobbits from the Shire two days ago. They had flooded the kitchen and pantries; they had helped his cooks to prepare the feast, peeling potatoes or cleaning vegetables. Honestly, who could have a bad impression of somebody who helped you with your work?

To Nori’s knowledge most of the lady-hobbits had even taken care of the breakfast this morning, allowing the dwarrows to sleep in a little. They were awake because of the fauntlings anyway, they had argued. So they could as well put their time to good use, supporting their hosts.

Ori and maybe Balin would be able to keep an eye on the scribes.

Bofur was well liked member of the miners’ guild and Bifur a highly respected one, especially after he had taken an axe to the head during the battle of Azanulbizar, in protection of his guild-master. The elderly dwarf had died despite of that, because the journey through half of Middle-earth had proven too strenuous for him. The position of guild-master had been offered to Bifur upon their arrival in the Blue Mountains, yet the dwarf had declined politely. Not because of the nightmares and anxiety he suffered due to Smaug’s attack that had killed his entire family: he often had flashbacks and was completely beside himself for a few moments. No, it was because, as he had claimed, a guild-master should be into his craft with all his heart, not merely doing it because there were not enough dwarflings around to craft toys for. Bifur had always been proud to be part of the miners’ guild and had put a lot of his efforts into his craft. But his heart had only been in it when he had fauntlings in mind as recipients of his work. As a miner that almost never was the case.

Oin and Gloin would listen to the chatter of the guards, Dwalin as well, although he spent less and less time in the barracks.

That left Dori and the princes. When his brother was not fulfilling his duties as Majordomo, he was trying to set up a teashop in the market district. Until now not enough food had been available, so that the dwarrows of the Blue Mountains couldn’t even think about having such an establishment. Nobody fancied tea when worrying about starvation.

But with the support of the hobbits of the Shire (and Nori suspected that Dori had even entered into a trade relationship with a local leaf dealer in Hobbiton all by himself) his brother had set his heart on said teashop once again.

That would be the perfect place to listen out for gossip and get a feel for the general mood of the kingdom. Nori would have to talk to the king to speed up his brother’s paperwork. Maybe he could get his allowance within the week without raising too much suspicion.

That left the princes, but Nori didn’t think that he needed to talk to them and share his plan. Fíli and Kíli were utterly in love with their new uncle and would do everything to protect him.

Having grown up mostly on the road, they had gotten the best education available under the circumstances. Nori knew them to be aware of the inner workings of their kingdom. They just usually decided to ignore them in favour of spending their time carefree and without any engagements. Well, maybe he should talk to them after all. Nobody looked twice at them if they poked their noses into where they didn’t belong. The information officer just had to make sure that they knew what to focus on.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 


	21. Plans, Problems and Solutions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As I have mentioned before: Thorin is exaggerating. But there is a problem worth worrying about. Luckily his hobbit has a possible solution for it.  
> Nori tries his best to have the newlyweds back, but it turns out harder than expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to say something completely unrelated to this chapter. Please go back to "Serve your Happiness" and check out the amazing fanart I have included there. The artist who made the bindrune for Bilbo's tattoo graced me with another picture. I included it in Chapter 18 because it show's Thorin with the dark-blue shirt and the 12 dogroses in his head. Truly amazing!

Bilbo had gotten a little carried away. Alright, a lot!

He inspected the scones that were numerous enough to feed ALL members of his new family, as well as the dozen slices of ham – because honestly, letting good ham go to waste would simple be … well, a waste. There were scrambled eggs piled up in the new pan and a vegetable soup was simmering on the stovetop. The bread that was baking slowly would be enough for today as well as tomorrow, and the dough prepared for cookies just had to sit before baking. A medium sized bowl with freshly cut fruits stood on the table, right next to a handful of tomatoes that would go splendidly with the eggs and some cheese.

Thorin had been by his side all morning, silently supporting him through his cooking and baking frenzy. Not once had the dwarf mentioned that they would never be able to consume everything Bilbo was preparing. He had just chopped nuts, sieved flour and measured sugar for whatever his hobbit had in mind.

Secretly Thorin had enjoyed watching his husband, excitement lighting up his eyes, cheeks rosy from the effort of kneading bread-dough, hair white from the flour that had been spread generously over the wooden surface of their worktable. Now Bilbo was sitting next to him, exhausted but excited because of their achievements. His hobbit’s stomach had been settled by the first batch of scones. Thorin had cut two of them open as soon as they had cooled enough. He had even applied a knob of butter and a touch of jam, feeding them to his hobbit bite per bite.

Now they were at their table, ready to dig into their meal. Calmed a little, his hobbit leaned towards him, kissing him tenderly onto the tip of his nose, whispering, “Thank you,” before distributing the ham and eggs equally between them. Thorin suspected that he wouldn’t need any more food until dinner but he wouldn’t complain. He really didn’t mind, not when his hobbit looked so utterly happy.

After their meal they decided to have a quiet afternoon. While working in the kitchen they had seen a storm brewing on the horizon, so a trip to the new fields would be wet and generally uncomfortable. Bilbo had finally given in and picked up a book, to Thorin’s liking, putting himself into a comfy corner of the couch in his living room. He enjoyed the merrily crackling fire, while concentrating on the pages, reading to his husband.

 

Thorin’s thoughts, however, drifted towards unpleasant matters. When his hobbit had winced after lunch, because Thorin had placed a kiss on his injured shoulder, the dwarf had pulled back immediately, once again reminded of his horrible actions. What was it that a union with his lover brought forth such vile deeds? Was it really safe for his hobbit to be around him? Was he exaggerating this?

The prince remembered his grandfather when under the influence of the gold-sickness. The formerly wise and considerate king had started to neglect his duties in favour of enjoying the riches in the treasure chamber. He had exhausted the miners and metal workers to produce more gold coins to add to his endless piles, caressing them whenever he passed them by. He had extended their shifts, doubled their workloads, depleting them until Thorin’s father had put a stop to this exhausting labour.

Thráin had never been able to convince his father of the wrongness of his actions, yet after a little while he realized that the king couldn’t care less about what was going on in his kingdom. At least not as long as there was a steady income of gold into his treasury.

So the young prince had taken it upon himself to talk to the miners and goldsmiths. Together they had rearranged their working schedules and though it had remained brutal – otherwise his grandfather’s demands would never have been met – it became bearable because instead of working two shifts, Thorin introduced four. Every dwarf was bound to work for six solid hours at the height of his abilities so that they were able to produce enough gold to satisfy their king. It had been hard, but nobody got sick any longer or broke down on his workbench only to be severely punished because he hadn’t met his quota.

Thorin had sworn to himself that he would never, EVER become as obsessed with ANYTHING. He had taken every precaution imaginable. Yet with Bilbo, for the first time in his life he could understand the sentiment: all Thorin wanted to do was be with him, buried in his scent, having him close so that he could touch him, surround himself with his hobbit at any given moment. Groaning quietly he sank to the side and rested his head on his husband’s lap inhaling his calming scent. He didn’t dare to turn towards his hobbit, because the urge to hug him close and maybe hurt him again was overwhelming. He just needed the smell and the feeling of his lover close to him.

With only a short pause in his reading, Bilbo put one of his hands into Thorin’s hair, trailing through the tresses to calm his lover.

Thorin would fight it. Fight it with all his strength, because the thought of ever hurting his husband again was unbearable. Bilbo had forgiven him for the injury but it was so much harder to forgive himself. He would be the most considerate, careful and loving spouse imaginable, showing Bilbo that he was worthy of his trust.

Thorin knew that he still had it, because when he had leaned against his husband, the hobbit had not tensed, had not retreated; on the contrary: Bilbo was caressing Thorin’s head as if he could feel his lover’s distress. By Mahal, how did he deserve such a trusting husband?

 

“You know, I think I should travel to Rivendell next week. I have not seen my elvish friends in a very long time. Maybe I could send Elladan or Elrohir back here in my place. To help you with your duties, you know?” Bilbo had not modulated his tone since he had stopped reading from his book. He was still speaking calmly and conversationally because it seemed to have soothed his husband’s troubled mind.

“Hm … of course,” was Thorin’s automatic response. Now at last could Bilbo be sure that his husband had not heard a single word he had said.

Oh, Thorin was good. He had ‘hmmm’ed and agreed with him in all the right places. But that he would be fine with Bilbo leaving for Rivendell and have one of the elven twins as his husband’s replacement was out of the question.

Starting to braid his lover’s hair strand by strand, just so that his fingers where occupied, Bilbo tested Thorin further. “You know they are very good with the fields. They could even find a way to remove the poisoned earth. Maybe they could make your people carry away about two or three feet of soil, only to replace it with earth from your inner valleys, where the land is nurtured by a fresh stream.”

“Or we could relocate the entire kingdom. Rivendell is beautiful. I am sure that Lord Elrond wouldn’t mind if your king makes a polite request, offering his people’s skill in payment for the housing. Nobody ever said that dwarrows have to live inside of a mountain. The hidden valley is beautiful really, a lot of open spaces, streams and wide rivers. You could fish for your food, because I doubt that the wildlife could support your entire kingdom. Maybe we could even introduce your people to a vegetarian lifestyle. Their health would surely benefit from it.”

“Yes, sure … wait, … what?” Raising his head from his husband’s lap, Thorin looked at his hobbit in bewilderment. Had Bilbo just talked about eating solely vegetables and fruits?

Laughing out loud, because Thorin looked not only completely baffled but also quite funny with countless crooked braids in his unruly hair, Bilbo caressed his lover’s forehead to ease the lines of bewilderment. Aware that he finally had his love’s attention, the hobbit asked amusedly, “Really, the vegetables were the first thing that made you startle? What have I just said, lover?”

Aware that he had no clue what Bilbo had talked about, Thorin tried tentatively, “You want to cook only vegetables from now on and no meat? Because … because there is no cellar in your kitchen to cool the perishables?”

“Close,” Bilbo grinned. “Actually I was introducing you to my plan to relocate the entire kingdom to Rivendell. And because the wildlife of Rivendell is not vast enough to support an entire kingdom, it would be best if your people would accustom themselves to a vegetarian lifestyle. Of course only after I informed you of my plans to travel ahead, sending back Elladan or Elrohir as my replacement. You seemed quite fond of the idea.”

Ducking his head sheepishly, Thorin took a deep breath. He only looked up when Bilbo reached around him to open the braids once again, smoothing his long hair, finally asking, “What were you thinking about? Clearly your mind was miles away.”

When Bilbo realized that Thorin’s eyes were flickering towards his shoulder, he swatted the dwarf for good measure. “I told you it was nothing! Stop worrying about it. In a few days you won’t even see anything. Why is this bothering you so much?”

“Because you … I …,” exhaling in frustration because he couldn’t find the right words, Thorin closed his eyes to collect his thoughts. Bilbo was waiting patiently, giving his lover the time he needed.

After a little while, the dwarf looked at his hobbit again. “I’m scared, Bilbo. I have seen what my family is capable of, when under the influence of the gold-sickness. It clouds our minds and makes us … it makes us these horrible persons, completely possessed with the object of our desire. There is no sane thought left in us. We don’t care if we hurt those around us, to get what we want. I have seen it and the thought of treating you with anything but uttermost care repulses me.”

 

Realizing for the first time that it was not the bite but the reason behind it that worried Thorin so much, Bilbo withdrew and pulled his feet under himself, so that he sat nested at his end of the couch, while his dwarf occupied the other.

Initially the hobbit had thought his lover was only concerned with the love bite. But now he understood that the problem lay much deeper. Gradually Bilbo became aware that contrary to what he had initially thought, he might not have an easy solution for this problem.

“Alright, from what I understand, the tendency of going crazy with desire for gold runs in your blood.” When Thorin nodded, hanging his head in shame, Bilbo reached for him, pulling at his naked feet until they were safely rested in the hobbit’s lap. Tenderly caressing the shank until his dwarf relaxed somewhat, the hobbit continued. “Now you are afraid that the madness that your line is prone to might appear in you and could be directed at me?”

Once again Thorin could only nod because that was EXACTLY what he dreaded! Bilbo’s hair shone like the most exquisite gold. In Thorin’s mind his hobbit was the most precious treasure imaginable. The thought of becoming mad with desire, hurting Bilbo along the way just to prove his ownership, made him sick to the core.

Yet after a little thinking, his hobbit relaxed in his seat, smiling up at him serenely.

His question, “Your family always set their heart on their gold?” was answered with a nod form the dwarf.

So Bilbo stated empathically, “But Thorin, I am not a gold-coin. You can’t trap me in a treasury and lock me away. I am a sentient being with wishes and ideas of my own. And if you hurt me, I mean severely, if you displease me and evoke my ire, I can tell you that. I can stand up to you and tell you off. By all that is sacred, Thorin, you just gave me a dagger and told me that you wish me to be able to defend myself!”

Hugging his dwarf’s feet, Bilbo continued, “I might not be as strong or as skilled as you, but you are my husband and if you do something that displeases me, I will find a way to get through to you, even if my last resort is chaining you to our bed and hit you with our pillows until you snap out of it.”

As expected, Thorin’s mouth twitched a little at the edges, maybe because he found the thought of Bilbo hitting him with a pillow all too endearing, or because the idea of being chained to a bed didn’t strike him as a punishment.

With a sigh of relief, because the dark clouds seem to vanish a little from his dwarf’s mind, Bilbo assured him, “I am not a mindless token of your affection, lover. And apart from all my skills, I have family now, have I not? Can you really imagine your father, Dís, or Fíli and Kíli allowing you to hurt me?”

Remembering when Kíli had shoved him sideways off the bench behind the blacksmith’s shop, ready to beat him up when he had been convinced that Thorin had hurt Bilbo, he smiled in earnest and shook his head. No, at least his nephews wouldn’t hold back when they were convinced that he was hurting his hobbit. They loved Bilbo far too much to allow any of that.

Crawling closer, Bilbo brushed away a few strands that hung into Thorin’s face, and whispered, “See, no need to be worried about something that MIGHT happen. This is our home now, and there are a lot of people to help, should there be a problem. Have a little faith, my sweet. I am sure everything will turn out fine.”

Nodding solemnly, swallowing past the lump in his throat, Thorin pulled his hobbit in, so that Bilbo lay stretched out on his chest.

“I am sorry for burdening you with that.” Thorin’s words were nothing but a faint whisper. He felt ashamed for the weakness of his line, always had always would. Yet his husband obviously didn’t think any less of him because of it. No, Bilbo’s body was covering his own. The hobbit’s fingers were idly toying with the laces of Thorin’s shirt, occasionally rubbing his face into the dwarf’s chest when a lock of his hair was tickling him. Gently brushing away the copper strands, twirling them into little peaks, the dwarf was finally able to calm.

Bilbo was right; his family would protect his hobbit, even from him. With that failsafe in mind, Thorin closed his eyes and slowly dozed off.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

Nori was currently talking to Bifur and Bofur. They had spent their day out in the fields, making sure that the water channels were sufficiently secured and wide enough to sustain all the fields. The well really made all the difference in the world and they were thanking their Maker that it was so rich once opened up properly. Bilbo had told them about the chemicals of the forge being bad for the plants, so they had tasted the water and found it clear.

At the information officer’s inquiry, they could tell him that most farmers were glad for the hobbits’ help. After their strenuous journey, Bilbo’s family was taking their time in the Mountain, and knowing about the dwarrows’ plight, they had proven very supportive.

Nearly all of the hobbits had been exceptionally helpful with the fieldwork and the dwarrows had felt proud of themselves when they remembered the instructions of ‘their’ hobbit, perfecting them with the experienced farmers who had come along. No matter if these hobbits had worked less time in their own fields than the dwarrows, mostly because they were so much younger, they could fall back on a long tradition of farmers in their family, so their knowledge was extensive and they were delighted to share it.

Yes, it WAS important which seed to plant where.

No, potatoes were NOT to be planted next to tomatoes, they would endanger the fragile vegetable by spreading blight on them.

Yes, tomatoes and onions worked quite well together.

Dill was an herb and should be planted far from other vegetables – that’s what herb patches were for.

Yes the winter-rye actually was a brilliant idea and could be reaped much sooner than any other corn.

Parsley and garlic could be grown side by side, but where by all the gods in Middle-earth did they plan to plant them? These fields were full to the brim!

The hobbits had been overjoyed to hear that there was more fertile ground within the mountains, just not as even and as widespread as here. The guests were promised a field-trip the next day and a part of the dwarrows and the hobbits were discussing whether to include Bilbo in that trip because the hobbit surely would love to see those vegetable patches.

 

More or less the same was going on in the kitchen when Nori was asking them in a roundabout way what they thought of the hobbits in general and Bilbo in particular.

Bombur’s people spoke only in the highest tones of the hobbits and ‘their’ hobbit was always on the forefront of their minds. It was unbelievable how much sympathy Bilbo had gained just from giving these dwarrows the chance to do their jobs again without worry and fear that they would use too much today and have to starve tomorrow.

The source of the greatest joy for the kitchen personnel was young Violet. She had gotten a special permission to come with her aunt and uncle, because she was not as closely related to Bilbo as required for the trip. Yet her parents had finally caved in to her pleading that she wanted to see ‘her’ dwarf again. From the stories of it, she had refused to eat a single meal for nearly a whole day to persuade her parents to let her go. And for a hobbit child that really was something!

Once in the kitchen, she had defended her position as Bombur’s only help and had shooed away all the other dwarrows. Then she had shown her true ability to help by peeling five kilograms of potatoes and cutting them for a soup.

The fact that they would need ten times as much was discreetly overlooked, and whenever Bombur asked the little girl to get him something, more potatoes were added when she was not around.

The other hobbits had proven themselves swift and willing helpers, not caring if they were asked to knead dough or to peel carrots. They were all chatting amicably with the dwarrows, even sharing recipes. It seemed that the diet of the Blue Mountains from this day forth would contain a lot more vegetables.

So all in all, there was a widespread ‘pro-hobbit’ mood in these rooms too.

 

The miners’ guild was the first to give noncommittal answers to Nori’s questions about the hobbits. Sure, they were grateful that they would not starve in the winter. But quite honestly, they couldn’t find a way to relate to the royal consort and his people. Bilbo Baggins was nice and cheerful they gave him that, but otherwise … they simply didn’t know him, so their mood could swing either way.

Maybe Bilbo could get on their good side by showing interest in their work? If that wouldn’t help, he could always distribute his famous shortbread. Honestly, Nori had never eaten anything more delicious. It was slightly sweet but not overly so. It could be stored easily and was delicious even after a few days. It would make a great snack for those who worked in the mines, and maybe Bilbo could introduce it to them.

If they ate it down there and felt energized by the sugar and satisfied by the buttery taste, they would always have positive associations with the royal consort, at least until they got to know him better – because in Nori’s mind it was impossible to know Bilbo Baggins and NOT like him.

 

The merchants’ guild was the last one on Nori’s list and the hardest to judge. They said absolutely nothing when Nori asked their opinion, even though their conversation lasted for quite some time. Once again the dwarf was reminded why he always asked Dori to acquire everything he needed.

His older brother was an impressive figure and unequalled at this sort of verbal duelling. Nori was better at listening, Ori at writing things down. Dori was their speaker and had always made sure that his family was well fed and clothed, even when he used the coins Nori had acquired not quite legally all the time.

Reminding himself that Dori would most likely be sweeping through the object of his desire, the auburn-haired dwarf turned towards an empty building in the middle of the marketplace. Over the last years Dori had, with the help of his brothers, renovated a broken building and now it was nearly ready to be opened to the public again.

Upon entering Nori took in the walls that were painted creamy white, and the colourful cushions that lay on every chair. Dori had picked up that idea from Bag End. Nori had to admit that it really made a much more homey impression, especially with the colourful doilies sitting on every table, ready to be hidden under cups of tea and plates of biscuits.

As Nori had expected, his brother was just leaving the kitchen, putting his broom aside after careful cleaning. Dori was nearly obsessed with the cleanliness of his shop, although it had not opened yet. “It shouldn’t be long before opening now, don’t you think?”

Not really surprised by his brother’s sudden appearance, Dori pulled two cups from a shelf and started to fill a kettle. Nori was waiting patiently for the water to boil and inhaled the aroma of the special herbal blend he had developed a liking for in the Shire. He was not surprised that Dori was aware of this; he was his big brother after all. While their tea was steeping, Dori asked, “What makes you think that I will open soon? I imagine the king is having other problems than the approval of a tea shop in a formerly broken building.”

Shrugging evasively, Nori contemplated, “It might just be a great place for people to meet and … talk, you know.”

Scrutinizing his middle brother, Dori stated after a little while, “For a spy you are unbelievably inept. I hope when working for the king you are trying harder. But alright, I’ll bite. Why would I want to have a place where I could listen to the chatter of people?”

Nori sighed slightly. On the one hand Dori was right, his approach had been inelegant, but he blamed that on his long day and unnerving talk with the vendors prior to his arrival. On the other hand, his older brother had practically raised him and Ori after Smaug’s attack, so he knew him better than anybody, easily seeing through his evasion. It was useless to play dumb now.

So Nori decided to be as open as possible, without giving away too much of his king’s orders. “Well, have you seen the way some dwarrows were looking at Thorin after the public claiming? I just want to make sure that there is no trouble coming their way.”

Looking at his brother worriedly, Dori asked, “Nori, are you lying to me? Do you know of a lurking danger concerning Bilbo and Thorin?”

Shaking his head, Nori looked directly into Dori’s eyes, stating as earnestly as he could, “No, Dori, I am not lying to you. But I am holding back something. It shouldn’t be important for you now. Just do me a favour and keep your eyes and ears open.”

After draining the last sip from his cup, Nori turned to leave.

He was stopped by Dori grabbing his upper arm to hold him back. True, Nori could cut himself loose in less than a heartbeat because he was fast with a blade; true too, that Dori would merely have to flex his fingers to break his bones because he was the strongest dwarf around; but neither of them would ever do that, they were family after all.

So the information officer merely looked at his brother when Dori stated determined, “If you become aware of the faintest rumour of a threat for Bilbo and Thorin, you WILL tell me!”

Aware that for Dori (well, for all the temporary inhabitants of Bag End) Bilbo had become family, the auburn-haired dwarf nodded. “I promise, Dori. We won’t let anything happen to them.”

With that the silver-haired dwarf seemed satisfied. He pulled his brother in for a fierce hug, before releasing him to the street. If his king truly wanted a place where one of his advisors could have his ear on the people, he would have to make preparations. Dori had no doubt whatsoever that if his younger brother judged this place suitable for his needs, it would open before the end of the week. And it was midweek already!

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 


	22. Welcome News

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter finally some good news and more unexpected presents come around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally a chapter that is nice and easy and cuddly and fluffy.  
> You will like it, I promise.

Two days later the king was handing a document to his information officer, who had just left some reports on the various guilds on the desk. Both Thráin and Nori were used to seeing each other on a regular basis, more often than not passing by without even a word. Documents would appear on the king’s desk and little notes would vanish from the topmost drawer, giving instructions and demands for certain information.

So when Nori took the offered document he didn’t think too much of it. He merely hid it under his coat before leaving without a word. He was still worried about the miners and thought about how much longer it would take for Bilbo and Thorin to be ready to receive guests.

Bifur had tremendously liked the idea of his fellow miners receiving treats from their hobbit. He himself had enjoyed the shortbread Bilbo had baked regularly in Bag End. But for now the newlyweds were still in seclusion, so disturbing them was out of the question. After all, Nori really, really didn’t want to enter an embarrassing scene by sneaking into their chambers when Thorin and Bilbo thought themselves alone.

So he was only half paying attention, when he pulled forth the king’s document to read through his new instructions. He was startled to realize that these documents were actually sealed. The king usually refrained from doing so when writing down orders for Nori. Turning the document around slowly, a wide smile lit up Nori’s face. He changed directions mid-stride and instead of heading for the barracks, he sped up his steps to reach the marketplace as soon as possible.

 

He was practically throwing himself through the front door, looking excitedly for his brother. He had to be here, Dori was ALWAYS here. The door wasn’t even locked. It took him a moment to realize that he could hear voices from the kitchen. Both sounded familiar, though the auburn-haired dwarf couldn’t place the female one. Peeking around the corner – maybe his brother had a lady around and didn’t want to be disturbed – Nori couldn’t help but laugh, when he saw his brother and guest at the kitchen counter.

To be fair, the picture that presented itself was really comical. One lady-hobbit, her hair white due to her advanced age, and his brother with his sliver braids, were standing side by side in the kitchen, singing, or respectively humming along, a rather joyous song, while kneading dough and chopping nuts. Both Adamanta Took and Dori turned around the instant Nori started snickering, and that only brought more joy to the dwarf.

His brother and Bilbo’s grandmother seemed to be at least through their second batch of cookies, because though the dough was still a little too wet at the edges, obviously needing more flour, both of their faces were smeared with flour and in Dori’s case some sprinkles that surely were meant to decorate a pastry instead of his cheek.

Scolding, Adamanta looked at the intruder and instantly shooed him out of the kitchen because, as she stated quite forcefully, someone who was laughing at the cook did not deserve a treat, even though there were two batches of cookies finished already! Nori didn’t mind; instead he only beckoned his older brother to follow. He took his accustomed place at the bar, waiting patiently for Dori to clean himself.

“So, to what do I owe the honour of you laughing at me in my own kitchen?” Even though his words were berating, Dori’s voice and composure were far from it. He had had a lot of fun with Adamanta today, giving the hobbit free rein in his kitchen, in exchange for one of her famous cookie recipes. All of the dwarrows had enjoyed the cookies Bilbo had baked in Bag End so very much, yet the young hobbit had always told them that the recipe for them had been in his family for generations and he really couldn’t share it, so sorry about that. But he had promised to bake cookies for them any time they liked.

So Dori had decided to go straight to the source. Even though he suspected the cookies not to be the ones served in Bag End, they still would be amazingly good and surely his guests would enjoy them with their tea. So he looked at his younger brother quite good-naturedly, but lost his spirit once Nori held up a sealed document. He knew what he had been waiting for. Both brothers knew it. Yet now that his dream – because this really could only be the signed license for his teashop – was within reach, he suddenly felt overly nervous.

But he was a strong and composed dwarf. So his hands where not shaking, not at all, when he reached tentatively for the document, gathering all of his strength to break the royal seal.

Nori didn’t say anything, just enjoyed sharing this moment with his brother. It didn’t happen very often that he could be the deliverer good news, so he was determined to revel in the situation as long as possible. When Dori carefully rolled out the document, his eyes got a little wet. Reaching for his brother’s hand, Nori squeezed it comfortingly.

Dori had dreamed of this teashop ever since Erebor. He had wanted for people to have a place where they could feel comfortable and at home again. They all had sorely missed that feeling ever since the dragon had taken their mountain from them.

And now Nori had brought him his licence, all official with the signature from the king and the royal seal to prove that he was allowed to start his very own business. Of course his duties as Majordomo would come first. But he could hire help, maybe one of the lady-dwarrows who could bring along her child, because Dori had even thought of them and had reserved a space in one of the corners for them to share toys and play. He even had some toys because Bifur and Bofur had made some for him at an incredibly low price.

Lost for words, looking at his brother, Nori simply stepped around the counter and hugged Dori fiercely. For several long minutes they just stood there and enjoyed the moment of something really working out for their family. The last time they had had that, had been the day that Ori had been accepted as an apprentice to the royal scribe; before that, Nori becoming information officer for the king but … but that was not really something to be celebrated.

“Good news?” Adamanta obviously had finished whatever she had been doing, and had cleaned herself and was now entering the main room of the teashop. Proudly Dori held out his licence, but the lady-hobbit only shook her head and said goodnaturedly, “From both of your reactions I would say that this is tremendously good news for you, but I am not able to read your letters.”

Overjoyed at the news, Nori and Dori talked on top of each other to explain why this was such an important document to them.

“Because it allows me to actually open my shop.”

“And he can serve family and friends, and even some of these arrogant traders who think that their goods are coming from the top of the food-chain.”

“But none of them has ever eaten anything made by hobbits, well at least not until yesterday.”

“And my brother – who is usually only paid for his duties as Majordomo – will have a steady income and a steady occupation.”

“Sometimes I might even have to hire help!”

“This is something that we’ve never had before. We had restaurants but never teashops. But Dori always wanted to have such a cosy place, where it was not about dashing in and out and inhaling whatever food was served before going back to work.”

“But somewhere, where you could meet after work, with family and friends. Where you could bring your children and feel welcome and at home.”

Somewhere they could feel at home. Adamanta had realized that this feeling was very important for the dwarrows of Erebor. They all had been so overwhelmed when Bilbo had invited them into his house, treating them like family rather than guests. And they all had done so much good for her grandson. They had shown themselves polite – even Dwalin after the first mishap when he had entered Bag End to bail out his friend – and supportive. How sad was it that a whole kingdom had no place to feel welcome and at home?

Well, Dori was doing a brilliant job in decorating his teashop with light colours and cushions and doilies to give this room a homey impression. Yet there was still more to do. So after hugging both brothers, congratulating Dori from the bottom of her heart, Adamanta offered, “Well nothing says ‘home’ as well as a sponge-cake, baked after a recipe that has been in the family for generations. Come back to the kitchen, Dori, I was just about to start. And if you take notes to be able to reproduce it, I would never know because I really can’t watch you all the time when measuring and mixing ingredients.” With a wink she bid Nori her farewell, before returning to the kitchen.

Looking at his brother for one last time, Nori hugged Dori fiercely, whispering in his brother’s ears, “I am so proud of you. Surely you will do brilliantly as a business owner.”

Kissing his younger brother’s forehead, Dori answered, “Thank you Nori, and don’t worry. I will keep my eyes and ears open.”

After that assurance Nori slipped out, to once again pick his way to the barracks.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

“Dear, not that I want to complain, because I really would NEVER complain when you are baking, but why are you preparing another cake? The one from yesterday will surely last for two more days.” Thorin had just entered the kitchen, after browsing through his paperwork. Nobody had put anything on his desk for the last three days, so he actually had a chance to clear it before resuming his duties.

Bilbo was currently chopping nuts for a pie, hectically stirring some kind of sweet cream simultaneously. When Thorin nudged him aside, taking care of the nuts, Bilbo exhaled in relief and answered, “Well because we can’t serve our family old pie, can we? They will be here around teatime and just because I am living with royals now is no reason not to bake for myself.”

Irritated at the prospect of receiving guests, Thorin asked, “I thought we had a week to ourselves. Why are we expecting guests all of a sudden?”

Shaking his head, laughing, Bilbo stated, “Because we have been in seclusion for three days today. They have to make sure that we are alright. That’s tradition!”

“Not with dwarrows,” was Thorin’s short answer, when he stored away the chopped nuts, looking at his husband expectantly for another task.

Throwing Thorin a bewildered look, Bilbo asked, “Your family doesn’t make sure that you are alright when on your honeymoon?”

“Well honeymoon is not a very common concept amongst dwarrows. We marry, we celebrate, we nurse our hangovers and on the second day after the wedding we return to our duties. We don’t sit idly and do nothing.”

Pulling the pot from the stove, Bilbo hugged his dwarf around the middle. “Do you really have the feeling that we are idle and did nothing over the last two days?”

Thorin remembered their time together quite easily and apart from his slip of sanity, their first day had been quite idle, the cooking and baking frenzy of his dear hobbit notwithstanding.

The last two days had been filled with … well, there had been the bed and the sofa, the tub and … well, his desk was surely more organized now than before. Then there had been a quite enjoyable tea-time on the carpet in front of the fireplace of Bilbo’s room yesterday. When his hobbit had put away his father’s chest – because he couldn’t figure out the lock – they had discovered that making love on a carpet, no matter how soft it appeared was … ahm … less than ideal for Thorin’s backside.

“Well … not exactly idle I would say.”

When the dwarf admitted that, he was kissed onto the tip of his nose, before the hobbit returned to the topping of the planned pie. It took another half an hour of preparations before the base of the cake went into the oven, and after an additional twenty minutes, the filling was added. That would give the pie time to cool so that the sweetened whipped cream wouldn’t melt when placed upon it. Thorin actually licked his lips at the thought of the wonderful treat, but when he tried to sample it, he earned nothing but a slap on the hand from his hobbit.

 

They were sitting intertwined on the sofa (Bilbo had developed a dislike for the armchairs because they simply didn’t feel right as he had mentioned a few days prior) when Thorin asked, “Does this ‘seclusion’ mean that we have to stay indoors all the time, or can we actually go out?”

Bilbo, who was toying with Thorin’s strands, asked curiously, “Where would you want to go, my sweet?”

The dwarf shrugged, “Well, there is a lot more to the Blue Mountains than you have seen for now. And I thought you might like to make a picnic out of exploring the inner valleys. Nori told me that he showed them to you, but that the two of you really didn’t spend a lot of time there. So maybe you would enjoy spending a day outside.”

Thorin didn’t mention that he had gotten a little worried about his hobbit over the last few days, because even though Bilbo seemed to be content, even happy in his new surroundings, the hobbit got paler and paler. Reminding himself that the hobbits of the Shire spent their time in their gardens in and off-season, he had tried to think of something to get Bilbo out of their rooms. He didn’t want his hobbit to get sick here, just because he didn’t get enough air.

Bilbo was smiling brilliantly at him, deciding delightedly, “You know, that is actually a brilliant idea. This way we can show ourselves and still get away, because I doubt that your people are ones for ‘idle’ walking.” Softening his teasing with a wink, the hobbit added, “And I have to be honest, I’ve gone a little stir-crazy in here. The rooms are pretty and if you take into account the height of them, I am sure that all of Bag End would fit into them. But I don’t feel that good surrounded by stone all the time. I could send for some meat from the kitchen, maybe Bombur can spare some, I could prepare it today and we could take it with us, making sandwiches from it or some cold meat salad. I could bake little cupcakes, they are easily transported and with some freshly baked bread we would …”

Kissing his husband’s locks amusedly, Thorin started to plan the route they would be taking. From the sounds of it Bilbo was planning at least a three-course meal and if that made him happy, Thorin wouldn’t mention that his hobbit was overdoing it … again, and that they would be entirely satisfied with sandwiches and water.

He had learned that hobbits put a special effort into the food, as if to make a good thing even better by it. To a hobbit everything WAS better with the right side dish. And remembering the creative things Bilbo had done with strawberries and whipped cream, Thorin was inclined to agree.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

In the end it was not only Bilbo’s grandparents who came to visit them, but the king and Fíli and Kíli too. Both boys were gloating about what Bilbo had already been able to produce in their renovated kitchen. Dís and, from the sound of it, Dwalin would join them later. In the first moment Bilbo had paled when facing six guests instead of the expected three. He hadn’t prepared enough cake for all of them, and though he had a batch of cookies he had baked only yesterday, that surely wasn’t enough to satisfy everyone.

But when there were hobbits, there was food!

Aware that her grandson was on the verge of a conniption, Adamanta nudged him towards his kitchen, presenting him with a huge sponge cake, because the lady-hobbit never did anything in half measures and Dori’s kitchen was meant for baking for a lot of people. She had also wanted a part of the cake to remain, so that Bilbo could enjoy it with his husband in private tomorrow. Gerontius had reminded her only this morning, when they had discussed what to bring, how very much her daughter had loved her sponge cake, especially when filled with her famous strawberry jam and cream.

Hugging his grandmother tightly, thanking her for the ‘rescue’, Bilbo proudly presented his big kettle and offered to prepare camomile tea for everyone. Agreeing that this would do all of them good, she helped him to stock a tray with additional cups and a second teapot, only to hesitate when she realized that she was handling her daughter’s ‘everyday’ tea set. In the Shire Bilbo would never have used these dishes to serve special guests. But in the Blue Mountains these cups and pots WERE special to him and she could only agree. They were smaller than anything the dwarrows used, but they seemed perfect for being handled by a hobbit.

When everybody was satisfied, Gerontius took a deep breath, sharing a smile with his wife, and – after sharing a brief look with Dís – started, “Bilbo, Thorin I am sure you’ve realized that we haven’t given you a present for your wedding day.”

When his grandson started to protest the notion, the Old Took only held up his hands. “It was not a hardship to travel here, Bilbo, Thorin made it as comfortable as possible. So you will accept that there is more to come from your family. After all, we couldn’t stand to be outdone by your dwarven family, and I have heard that some of the presents were of substantial value.”

Winking at the king, Gerontius continued, “I know that it is customary to give something to equip the new household, but on the other hand, you can get everything you lack more easily here. I am sure that your husband would find some time to go to the forge if you so much as indicated that you want a new kettle or pan, and transporting dishes through half of Middle-earth seems rather impractical when you have them already stored in Bag End. So after a little help from one of your dwarrows, we decided on another present. Well … at least the transport of it.”

When the Old Took went for the door of Bilbo’s apartment, the hobbit shared a confused look with his new husband. On cue, Thorin pulled Bilbo back from the sofa set, covering his eyes softly with his strong hands.

“Thorin, what …” Bilbo was confused by all the commotion and he surely didn’t like his dwarf covering his eyes. When he tried to wiggle free, he suddenly could feel Thorin’s hot breath on his right ear. “Just a moment, dear. This will be worth waiting for, so please grant your grandparents their moment.”

As always, special attention on his ears sent shivers down Bilbo’s spine and all of a sudden what happened in his room was the least of the hobbit’s worries. Because his clever, mean husband, was peppering his pointed ears with little kisses, giving Bilbo thoughts that were VERY inappropriate when being surrounded by family. He didn’t even notice that there was a lot of noise in the background. Furniture was moved, with the help of Fíli and Kíli of course, when Dwalin finally entered. It took several moments, during which Thorin was splaying his wide hand on Bilbo’s chest, pressing his smaller husband into his front so that he would have unrestricted access to his lover’s ears.

“Grandson …”

His grandfather’s voice made Bilbo aware that he was by far not the only person in the room and his husband’s ministrations brought colour to his cheeks and the tips of his ears. So he tried to downplay it, when Thorin finally pulled away his hands, allowing his husband once more free rein in his own rooms. “Yes, grandfather?”

Bilbo was aiming for nonchalant, but the moment he realized what change had occurred, he froze, looking unbelievingly form the ‘present’ to his grandparents. Only when they both reached out for him, he took a stuttering breath, approaching the changed furniture.

A new, longer sofa was standing there, wide enough to accommodate at least three dwarrows. There was another table too, one that matched the cherrywood legs of the new sofa. But what drew his eyes in the most were the two new armchairs that sat right in front of the fireplace, fully equipped with quilts over their backs and footstools below.

They didn’t take his breath away, didn’t even make him tear up slightly, because they were so new and shiny. Far from it! In fact they were more than thirty years old, and considering their quality, would hold at least twice as long. They might need upholstering occasionally, but those were good, sturdy armchairs, made of strong cherrywood, covered with a durable cloth that wouldn’t scuff easily. That’s why his father had chosen them for Bag End, at least that’s what his parents had told him. That, and his mother had liked them because they were incredibly comfortable and the small footstools had been the perfect place for a little fauntling to get his hair combed or flowers woven into it.

Bilbo was entirely lost for words. “How … why …” He couldn’t even phrase a proper sentence and looked quite helplessly from his grandparents to Dwalin, to Dís, to the king and finally to Fíli and Kíli. “How did you know?”

Oh how had he missed them. He had missed his armchairs so very much. Every evening in front of the fireplace he had felt that he was so far from home, only because the accustomed feeling of sitting in HIS armchairs was lacking. That’s why he had preferred the sofa after the first few days. He had enjoyed cuddling with Thorin in the evenings, but more than anything else, he had not liked sensing with all of his body that the armchair he had been sitting in was wrong.

Realizing that their present was much appreciated, both Adamanta and Gerontius came forth, hugging their grandson fiercely before revealing, “It was Dwalin’s idea to be honest.”

When Bilbo’s head whipped around to look at the warrior, the tattooed guard just ducked his head, not meeting the hobbit’s eyes. When he felt the eyes of the hobbit not leaving him, he grumbled finally, “Well, in your last week, when you were deciding on what to pack and what to leave behind, I saw you in the living-room, touching your armchairs with uttermost longing. When I asked if you were alright, you just said that you had just realized that there were things you would have to like to bring along, that were simply not a sensible choice. From the looks of it you could have only meant these armchairs, because your fingers were digging into the holstering like you wanted to never let them go.

“So when Thorin told me that he would invite your family, and asked me to help choose guards for the journey, I wrote a letter to your grandparents and asked them to bring the chairs along. Thorin even added another carriage so that they would fit. From what I have heard, they were well liked by the fauntlings during their travels.”

“But … but you have already given me the maps … this is …” Bilbo stammered.

Shaking his head empathically, Dwalin stated, “Writing a letter is hardly a worthy present for a royal consort. And it was your grandparents who had to go to all the trouble transporting them.”

“Of course, I …” Not wanting to give the impression that he was praising the wrong person, Bilbo once again hugged his grandparents, shaking so violently from nerves, that the Old Took stirred him towards his mother’s chair, sitting on the left side of the fireplace like it should be, letting his wife serve another cup of soothing camomile tea to calm his grandson down.

Sinking into the second chair, Thorin watched his eldest nephew claiming the food stool at Bilbo’s feet, producing a comb from one of his pockets, handing it back over his shoulders casually as if this was the most natural thing to do. Were they in Bag End, it actually would be. So of course Bilbo was reaching for the comb and of course he started to unwind Fíli’s braids when the others occupied a place on the generous sofa. It still was tight for five people, but the married hobbit-couple had no problems when Adamanta sat on Gerontius lap and Dís was snuggling into Dwalin, so that they all were comfortable.

If Bilbo had trouble braiding Fíli’s hair for several minutes because his eyes were blinded by tears, nobody mentioned it. They all simply returned to their chatting and bade the couple a good night, after Bilbo had finished braiding Kíli’s hair as well. He had never expected additional presents from his grandparents, but now that he had gotten them, he decided that he would never leave them behind again, not for anything in the world.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 


	23. New Discoveries

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin's fight with a cucumber! A pleasant day out with a very unhappy ending.

Bombur was currently managing the dinner rush, when someone coughed discreetly behind him. Ready to throw everybody out who didn’t belong, because honestly, at this time of the day he REALLY couldn’t do with any distractions, he noticed Tamon and instantly his face lit up in a huge smile. The dwarvish servant in his kitchen could really only mean one thing: the royal consort or his prince was in need of Bombur’s skills.

Bowing respectfully, because his Royal Highness’s personal servant deserved nothing less, Bombur asked slightly excitedly, “Mister Tamon, I didn’t think that I would see you again, now that the kitchen in Bil… in Master Baggins’ room is fully equipped.”  For the last two weeks Bombur had helped Fíli and Kíli to collect the basics to the best of his abilities. Knowing of Bilbo’s passion for cooking and baking, he was surprised to see the servant around.

Smiling at the respectful demeanour, Tamon stated, as he had always done ever since Bombur had taken up the position as a chef, “Tamon would suffice, Master Bombur. I am but a simple servant.”

To which Bombur also gave his usual reply: „There is nothing simple about a servant for the royal family. But what can I help you with, and if I could ask you, please be swift about it, we are in the middle of serving dinner.”

Nodding understandingly, Tamon stated, “Master Baggins has asked if I could come by a piece of meat. From what I understood, he plans on roasting it to make sandwiches or some kind of salad from it. He and Master Thorin are planning to have a picnic tomorrow.”

Allowing the huge chef of the Blue Mountains a moment to think, stepping out of the way of the cooks who were rushing through the kitchen, Tamon couldn’t supress a smile when Bombur dashed away, muttering, “Just give me a moment.”

Tamon truly liked the wide fellow because he was always friendly and supportive. Not once had he snarled at Tamon, when the servant had arrived in the kitchen around midnight, asking for a meal for his master, because he had once again realized that Thorin hadn’t eaten anything all day. Bombur had ALWAYS been able to whip up something, no matter how tight their rations had been, and Tamon had been infinitely grateful for it.

When the cook returned he held a bowl. Inside were a small piece of meat, wrapped into a waxed paper, half a cucumber and a tiny sealed clay-pot. “These are leftovers from dinner. The piece of meat is quite beautiful but not big enough for roasting here. It would dry out in my big oven and I don’t have the time to cut it up and prepare it separately. I assume it will suit Bilbo’s … Master Baggins’s needs. The cucumber is for Thorin.”

“What would my Lord do with half a cucumber?”

“Fight it.”

Nothing about this conversation made any sense to the servant, but at the same moment shouting erupted at a counter and with an apologetic nod, Bombur was off to handle whatever issue had arisen. Satisfied that he had been able to fulfil the first task he had been given by the royal consort, Tamon made his way back to the princes’ quarters.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

“Oh Tamon, thank you so much!” As soon as the servant was through the door, presenting his acquisitions, Bilbo took them from him and was dashing towards the kitchen. The servant shared a confused look with his master when they could suddenly hear the hobbit laughing out loud.

Shrugging in bewilderment, Thorin indicated Tamon to follow, willing to satisfy the curiosity of his servant, when Bilbo called out, “Thorin, Bombur sends his greetings.”

Leaning against the doorway of the kitchen, because Thorin had learned this to be a safer place when his hobbit was preparing food and didn’t need his help, he could only smile when Bilbo presented half of a cucumber, stating dryly, “I didn’t get that cucumber salad on our wedding day. You sneaked your way out of this assignment!”

Grinning, Thorin winked at Tamon, who watched the exchange most curiously, and stepped around Bilbo to pull out a cutting board and a sharp knife. After washing his hands, he held up the cucumber, challenging his hobbit, “Watch and learn. No heir of Durin will ever be defeated by a vegetable.”

Ready to conquer a vegetable that had rolled off his board more times than he could count, Thorin enjoyed his hobbit’s anxiety for a moment, before simply cutting the cucumber lengthwise, placing both halves on the chopping board and slicing them easily.

When he was finished he looked at his husband in triumph, only so find him laughing so hard that he was gasping for breath. Tamon was currently rubbing Bilbo’s back, worrying that the royal consort might choke.

“That is … that is so … you cheated,” was Bilbo’s allegation, once he had been able to draw breath again. Wiping away tears of mirth, he stabbed Thorin in the chest with his index finger. “You were supposed to learn how to handle delicate vegetables, giving them the care they deserved, not brutally cut them in half.”

Folding his arms defiantly, looking down at his hobbit over the tip of his nose, Thorin asked, “Did I handle a cucumber?”

“Yes, but …”

“Is it sliced up evenly?”

“Of course, but …”

Grinning widely Thorin declared, “Then I did everything right. You never – not once – said that I should cut it into even circles. And you can garnish with half-circles as nicely as with full ones.” As if to prove his statement, Thorin picked up several pieces, shovelling them into a floral form that would suit any sandwich Bilbo could prepare.

Hugging his husband, still laughing, Bilbo turned his head towards the still watching servant. “What do you say, Tamon? Did he cheat by cutting it in half or can we accept that as a properly cut cucumber?”

Smiling at the teasing, because the last time he had been allowed to notice such a tender bickering had been between king Thráin and his long lost queen, Tamon sighed contentedly. Thinking about the question for a moment, the servant stated, “Well, the vegetable surely is cut up and if that was the goal, His Royal Highness did very well.”

Grinning at the look the dwarf gave his master, Bilbo stated, “You are biased!”

Allowing himself a small laugh, Tamon stated with a respectful bow, “Of course I am. But still, for someone who has only worked with metal and weapons, this is very good work, especially for a dwarven prince who has never cooked for a day in his life.”

Satisfied with the answer, Bilbo returned his attention to Thorin, sharing his approval with the task. Tamon used this moment to sneak out unnoticed, because he didn’t want to intrude on such moments of happiness. You could never know how long they would last.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

As predicted, Bilbo seasoned the meat heavily and then put it into the oven at a middle heat. They had already prepared their dinner, a hearty stew that was simmering on the stove. A fresh salad – now with cucumbers – and some freshly baked bread would accompany it nicely. So Bilbo and Thorin were free to enjoy their afternoon. Never before had these two had any free time on their hands. Truly this was the best present imaginable.

Thráin had dropped a hint yesterday about Bilbo knowing the rune for his husband’s name as well as his own. Bilbo had proudly shown off the clasp Thorin had made for him as his first courting present, explaining that he was well aware that the letter that looked like an ‘R’ in the Khuzdul alphabet, stood for ‘B’. It had been highly confusing for him in the beginning, because the only language he knew beside his own had been elvish and the letters looked at least vaguely familiar. It was completely different with Khuzdul, but Bilbo soaked up all information he could get on the sacred language of the dwarrows. He still hoped that one day he would be able to understand it, although he didn’t have a lot of faith that this might happen any time soon, because no one was allowed to teach him.

After dinner, when Thorin was sitting at his desk, inquiring Bilbo about the composition of soil – obviously his husband had set his heart upon being a gardener – Bilbo was toying with the chest Thráin had given him. The lock was more or less a sliding puzzle. There were long pieces of metal, angular ones and some were even round. Yet for the life of him Bilbo couldn’t make sense of them.

After explaining how a few flowers and weeds would grow particularly well in mountain soil, others only in a warm and sunny place, Bilbo just realized that in his toying around, he had composed the letter ‘B’ in the Khuzdul alphabet. Turning an idea in his head, the hobbit asked incidentally, “Thorin, how does the first letter of your name look in the alphabet of your people?”

Aware that Bilbo would hardly discover any dwarvish secrets by knowing a single letter, Thorin felt it safe to sketch the rune onto a piece of parchment, showing it to his lover. He hadn’t even put the parchment down when he had already pushed it out of his mind, returning to the comparison of different forms of corn and what would give them the best chance of feeding their people. With the exception of occasional questions, Thorin returned to his reports, leaving Bilbo to toy with the chest.

“Aha!” Bilbo’s voice was triumphant when he announced his success, but when Thorin looked up to share the triumph with his lover, Bilbo was looking down at the now opened chest, blanching. “That’s not right. That CAN’T be right. By everything that is sacred …”

Instantly Thorin rose from his chair and approached his lover. A brief gaze into the treasure chest revealed that it really held gold and gems, just like Thorin had thought. The prince smiled when realizing that it also contained a long band of woven copper, something his father had created for his mother as a courting present.

They had been ordered by their respective families that their presents should show their skill rather than their wealth, so Thráin had set his heart upon copper, because in the sun his intended’s hair had shone like it. The former prince had spun thread after thread of copper, only to combine them into a short cord, spreading over two highly polished green stones at the end. Thorin’s mother had adored the present.

Thorin could remember her wearing it whenever they had no diplomats to receive or official duties to perform. To her it had been the most precious gift she had received form her fiancé and she had valued it above all others. His father must have thought that it might suit Bilbo and when comparing the metal to his hobbit’s hair, Thorin could only agree.

Yet, the rest of his husband’s face was uncharacteristically pale now. “Are you alright, Bilbo? What is wrong, lover?”

Gesturing frantically towards the chest, Bilbo stammered. “This … I mean this present … that can’t be right. There is a fortune of gold and gems in there. That surely is a mistake. Why would your father give us something like that?”

Smiling down at the chest, because Thorin was well aware that this was hardly a ‘fortune’ in the eyes of his people, the dwarf asked, “How did you open the lock?” He needed Bilbo to calm down and a simple explanation would most likely achieve that.

Turning around the chest so that Thorin could see, Bilbo explained, “It’s a sliding puzzle. I was supposed to create both of our first letters and merge them; a circle around them sealed in the pattern and made the lock a simple button that can be pressed to open the chest.”

  


 

  


“Then why do you think that the content of the box is not for you when my father clearly made it with your skill in mind?” Thorin was truly puzzled.

The gift was generous but not overly so. Had Bilbo expected more? But then his husband had called it a ‘fortune’. Something simply didn’t add up and taking a page out of Bilbo’s book, Thorin decided to simply ask: “Why do you deem it inappropriate? I estimate that this is your annual income as royal consort, you can use it to purchase what you desire or to help dwarrows in need. With my family, we always calculate about one third going out to support our personal projects and two thirds to make acquisitions we deem important.”

“Annual income?” The hobbit seemed nearly hysterical by now. “But that is far too much! You can’t … he can’t give me this! That’s insane! And why would I need an annual income? What should I do with all that money? I don’t know anybody who needs financial support and this is … I can’t get ‘paid’ to be your husband! That’s not right!”

Suddenly understanding the problem, Thorin pulled Bilbo away from the chest and nudged him towards the new sofa. Snuggling his hobbit onto his chest, Thorin rubbed his back to calm Bilbo down. Only when Bilbo’s breaths evened a little, he explained, “Bilbo, you are no longer your own person. With the position of being my husband, you are a person of interest for our people. They will come to you, ask you for your advice as they are already doing in the fields. But even more than that, they will come to ask for your aid.

“Maybe the library wants to acquire new books even after using up their funds. Maybe the tailor needs new working material for a ceremony but simply can’t afford the rich cloth that needs to be used. They would borrow money from you to be able to fulfil their duties. Maybe a good friend will come to you, telling you that he has opened his new teahouse, using up all of his family’s money, and suddenly a wall comes down. Wouldn’t you want to be able to help?”

Nodding slowly, Bilbo mumbled after a while, “In the Shire, thinks work in a similar way. But never before have I had so much money. I mean the Bagginses and the Tooks where always well off but this … this is too much, Thorin. And I don’t want an income to be your husband. That’s not right.”

Looking into the fire, avoiding Bilbo’s gaze, Thorin said in a quiet voice, “You did agree to it when the payment was me.”

“What?” Bilbo’s head shot around, sliding off his husbands lap to look at him bewilderedly. “You can’t compare these situations! Our marriage was one of convenience, unavoidable due to our families’ agreement.”

“Yes, I know.” When his hobbit had finally separated himself from Thorin, the dwarf took the opportunity to rise from the sofa. He knew that this bond had been forced upon them in the first place. But hearing it from his husband didn’t make it any easier. He had come to love Bilbo with all his heart, so being reminded of the contract inevitably hurt.

 

Bilbo on the other hand called himself a fool. He had come to care so much about Thorin. There was nobody in his life more important to him, except maybe Fíli and Kíli – the boys surely made a good second place. Yet everything had been so confusing. To receive money, or food, or anything else simply because he was married was so very wrong in his mind. Yet he was aware that Thorin’s situation at the beginning of the summer had not been all that different. The king had asked the hobbits for food and his son had been the down payment.

Now Thráin was giving him money and expected him to spend a part of it on his people.

They had gotten over the initial contract during the summer months. Both Thorin and Bilbo had found a way around the treaty. They had been able to build a life together that had made them feel content, even happy.

Bilbo had helped the dwarrows, supported them in their fieldwork. Whenever a new challenge arose, he would help them if he was able to. There was no shame in accepting money for this work. So to make things right, he simply had to find a way to make himself useful.

But never, not once in his life, would he accept payment for supporting his husband. He had sworn to see to Thorin’s happiness and that was exactly what he intended to do.

 

When Bilbo entered his husband’s room, he found Thorin at his desk, shuffling through some pages. Yet when the hobbit looked at the papers, he found them crooked and in disorder. The prince would never be able to work like that so it was easy to see through the busy façade.

Positioning himself behind his husband, gently starting to trail his fingers through the dark strands, Bilbo stated, “There is no shame in receiving money for good work. But our marriage is not work, at least not to me. It started as an obligation, but over time I have found joy and happiness in it.

“I am willing to put my wits and my skills at the kingdom’s disposal. But I will never accept a single coin for being with you.” Leaning in, he kissed his husband’s hair lovingly. “You are the treasure here, and I won’t get paid for being with you, because if I would accept payment for it, not even your precious Arkenstone would equal your value to me.”

 

Turning around, Thorin looked up at Bilbo, trying to judge if the hobbit was merely appeasing him or if he was telling the truth. But Bilbo’s eyes shone like the sun and there could be no doubt about his earnesty. So the dwarf pulled his husband in and buried his face in his chest. After a few long moments, he whispered, “I hate it how we started. It makes me feel cheap.”

Teasing his dwarf, Bilbo snickered, “Your life is worth that of several hundreds of your people, including your king’s. I wouldn’t call that cheap!”

Thorin rubbed his nose over Bilbo’s belly, aware that he was tickling his husband. “That would make me more important than my father …”

“For me you are, my sweet. For me you definitely are.”

Sharing an adoring kiss, revelling in his husband’s caresses, Thorin nudged Bilbo back to his living room, “So you will accept the money?”

Bilbo shrugged. “Well, it would be rather rude to return a present. And maybe I will find some good use for it. If not, I can always save it until I find a ‘project’ for myself. You said something about a teahouse. That idea sounds rather charming.”

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

The next day was sunny but rather cold. Bilbo was preparing a rich breakfast and both he and Thorin enjoyed it leisurely before preparing a nice picnic. They decided on taking their winter-cloaks with them, because if they found a nice spot and wanted to enjoy the scenery, they didn’t want to get cold. The second advantage of such cloaks was that they were able to hide their identity, protected by their wide hoods.

Obviously several hobbits were still guests of the kingdom, because nobody spared the two figures a second glance, even though one of them was barefooted and clearly not a dwarf. They made their way through the mountain without interruption. Once out in the open, Bilbo pulled back his hood and took a deep breath. There really WAS a difference between standing in front of an open window and being out in the open, feeling the wind and the sunshine on his skin. He sighed contentedly.

As they had foreseen, it was sunny but quite cold, and they used the better part of the morning to wander through the inner valleys, working up an appetite. Around elevenses – second breakfast had been cancelled in favour of getting out as fast as possible – they chose a sunny spot on a rock, enjoying the break with a sandwich and a few mouthfuls of tea.

After that they explored a cave that Thorin had been telling Bilbo about for several days now. The hobbit’s eyes widened when he entered the cavern: its walls were entirely covered with crystals. Natural light reflected from several stones and illuminated the whole cave. But the hobbit’s breath was stolen, when Thorin took a position in the middle of the cavern, igniting a small torch he had carried in his bag.

Suddenly the whole cave lit up. Light reflected from every surface, projecting rainbows and surrounding them with brilliant white light. Shivering from excitement, Bilbo approached a wall and tentatively touched a crystal. The surface was smooth and cold, but it still looked like it contained a thousand rainbows. Never before had the hobbit seen anything half as beautiful. True, he enjoyed the sun and colourful flowers, but this was pure magic and he was overwhelmed by his emotions when he finally turned towards Thorin.

When his husband came closer, the reflections flickered and the sparkling stopped. It seemed that really only in that special position, when angling the light perfectly, the magic was revealed. Extinguishing the torch, putting his arms around his husband, Thorin whispered, “I take it you enjoyed it?”

Circling his husband’s waist, Bilbo whispered, “A lot. Thank you for showing it to me. I have never known that a place underground can be so overwhelmingly beautiful.”

Kissing his lover’s forehead, Thorin guided him out and they resumed their walk. A late lunch was consumed in an open meadow and in the afternoon they followed the purl of running water and discovered a stream that made its way through a small copse, hidden from view.

Sharing a knowing smile, Thorin and Bilbo finally turned around, returning to their mountain. Both would remember that part of the valley and maybe, in the summer, they would put it to good use.

This day had been beautiful and full of discoveries, so they decided to pick up a quick dinner from the marketplace, to spare themselves extended time in the kitchen.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

On the marketplace Bilbo heard for the first time what some dwarrows of the Blue Mountains truly thought about him. The words were spoken in hushed tones and behind the cover of hands, but audible to a hobbit’s pointy ears nevertheless.

“… had taken him in front of the entire kingdom. He has surely bewitched our prince; otherwise Thorin would never have allowed that!”

“He doesn’t even have a beard. How could the king’s son agree to marry such a plain creature?”

“…have heard that the prince is completely smitten with him! This hobbit has to have enchanted him.”

“Exactly! Have you seen his pointy ears and hairless face? He looks like one of these cursed elves, only smaller. Maybe he wields the same magic.”

“They say that on the day of his arrival he just said one word to the king and Thráin sent everybody out until only he, prince Thorin and the halfling remained in the throne room. He must have done it then, bewitched them, you know! And now they have to do everything he demands! The prince even promised to do so on his wedding day!!!”

“… I have heard rumours that the king was forced by another hobbit to sell his son for the hobbits’ harvest! So this Baggins is his master, he forces Thorin to serve him day and night. Can you imagine?”

 

With every passing whisper Bilbo paled more. Was this really how the dwarrows saw him? As an oppressor who used unfair means like magic and the king’s contract to humiliate his husband, bend him to his will?

When Thorin found him, his head hanging, staring into a half empty basket, he too heard the vile whispers and saw the shoulders of his husband hunch more and more with every word.

Angry beyond belief, Thorin turned towards the whisperers and pulled back his hood, straightening himself to full height, growling at the merchants angrily, “How dare you judge someone you don’t even know? Without the help of the hobbits in general and my husband in particular, none of you would survive the winter. And if you think me willing to bind myself to someone who is not worth my loyalty, I must be a poor heir in your mind.”

Protecting his husband by holding him close, rubbing his neck soothingly, he hissed, “So the next time you slander someone behind his back, make sure you have all the facts. I, for my part, am proud to stay by my husband’s side, no matter what. For there is no person in all Middle-earth more caring and more supportive than him. If you wish to continue working here, you would do well to remember that and not defame him behind his back!”

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As before, please feel free to draw me a pretty lock, because I am rubbish at these things. I just wanted to give you an impression of what I had in mind. In truth it's more like a sliding puzzle with different strings of metal all over the pieces, only when arranged right it makes the key to open the chest.


	24. Troubleshooting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now Thorin and his family have to deal with a heartfelt hobbit.

Bilbo didn’t say a word on their way back to the royal wing, no matter how much Thorin tried. The prince couldn’t believe that the dwarrows of the Blue Mountains thought of his husband that way: as his oppressor, enchanter, master to the royals …

Bilbo was their saviour. Without his help, none of them would survive the upcoming winter. And even if, by some miracle, they would have gotten enough food from their fields, it would be poisonous and make them sick again.

So when they were back in their quarters, Thorin paced a few lengths through Bilbo’s living room where the hobbit had taken his usual place in his armchair, staring into the fire. Thorin pulled a quilt around Bilbo’s shivering form because the hobbit seemed to be freezing to the bones. This wouldn’t do. He couldn’t allow his hobbit to believe that his people had such a distorted picture of him. Yet he came to the realization that he had not known how the dwarrows of the Blue Mountains really saw his husband.

What had happened at their wedding had to have come as a shock to most of them. Thorin had been aware of that in the first place, but had gone through with it nevertheless. He even had been prepared to be called weak and be forced to stand up for himself to prove his worth all over again, despite everything he had already done for his people.

But he hadn’t anticipated that the people would place the blame for his atypical behaviour on Bilbo. The hobbit was nothing but helpful and caring and the very thought that anybody could see him in any other way came as a shock to Thorin.

As he couldn’t decide on a course of action without more information, Thorin went to see his father. Surely the king would know more, maybe even have suggestions about what to do to get Bilbo into the good graces of their people. On the other hand, if Thráin knew, why hadn’t he done anything about it? Surely his father didn’t like Bilbo being maligned any more than Thorin did.

Sinking to his knees in front of his hobbit, rubbing the icy fingers, Thorin tenderly brushed one of the golden locks out of Bilbo’s ashen face. Oh how very much it pained him to see his spouse that way. His words were tender and quiet aiming to ease his lover. “I want to go see my father. Can I leave you here for a minute?”

Wordlessly the hobbit nodded but refrained from looking at his husband. As always, Bilbo not looking at him didn’t sit well with Thorin, but for once he could understand the sentiment. So he merely kissed the still healing wrist, straightened the quilt and left.

After a moment’s hesitation he knocked on the door of his nephews’ chambers and once again with more strength behind it to get their attention as fast as possible.

“We didn’t do …” was the first thing he heard when Kíli opened the door. The young dwarf was grinning, at least until he saw the look on his uncle’s face. His words trailed into nothing when he finished, “… anything …”

Sighing with his eyes closed, Thorin collected his remaining strength and entered the room when Kíli stepped aside. Fíli’s grin died too as soon as he saw him and shared a confused look with his brother. True, they had swapped all the swords in the armoury from left to right, but they hadn’t destroyed anything and a mere swap of weapons would put everything into the right place again. That prank hardly justified the grim look on their uncle’s face.

Tiredly Thorin stated, “You know I would love nothing more than to worry about whatever prank you pulled today. But regrettably I walked with Bilbo through the marketplace this evening and …”

“… and he had heard the whisperers.” Fíli interrupted him.

Shooting his nephew a stern look, surprised that he was aware of the situation, Thorin demanded, “Explain!”

Gazing at each other for a moment, Kíli started, “Well, Master Nori came to us, told us to prick up our ears, because …”

But before Kíli could explain in detail, Fíli piped up, “Maybe you should talk to grandfather.”

“How long have you been spying for Nori?” Thorin was not amused, not at all! And the mere idea that his nephews had known about this and hadn’t told him anything sat VERY ill with him. No matter that their wedding was only a few days behind them.

Realizing how very displeased their uncle was, the boys admitted in a mere whisper, “Ever since the wedding …”

After ordering Fíli and Kíli to have an eye on Bilbo, Thorin turned towards the quarters of his father. He needed to have a word or two with the king and not all of them would be pleasant.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

Thráin was irritated, to put it mildly, when there was a knock on his door, as if the person on the other side intended to knock the door out of its hinges. He, Dís, Balin and Nori had had intended to use the better part of the evening to come up with ideas of how to persuade their people of their hobbit’s charm and usefulness. The king didn’t even try to hide his irritation when he opened the door, prepared to scare away whoever was standing at the other side.

But Thorin was familiar with his father’s moods and had no problems holding his ground against him. “My husband and I were walking over the marketplace, planning to buy some dinner. We hid beneath our hoods to remain unidentified. Can you imagine what we, especially Bilbo, heard, my king?”

Wordlessly Thráin opened the door, inviting his son in.

Thorin relaxed a little when he realized that both his sister and Balin were there, and when he spotted Nori in a dark corner he addressed the information officer, “I really don’t fancy you using my nephews as your spies.”

Sinking into a chair, suddenly overly tired, he continued quietly, “But I understand why you did it. They are good at picking things up and more or less invisible to the eyes of the people, even when walking in plain sight.”

Dís immediately rose and sat down next to Thorin, patting her brother’s hands comfortingly. “We were just about to hear Nori’s report on the general mood of the kingdom. Let’s just wait and see how bad it is before we overreact.”

Pulling back his hands unwillingly, the prince stated, “My husband is sitting in his rooms, convinced that our people hate him. I would say that is as bad as it gets!”

Shaking his head, Balin stated mildly, “It isn’t, lad, and if you would use your head instead of your heart for one moment, to assess this situation like a prince and not like Bilbo’s husband, you would come to realize that. Not one of the people sitting in this room thinks ill of Bilbo. We all know him for what he is: a devoted and loyal supporter of our people.

“For now there are only a few groups within this mountain who think ill of him. At least that is what I concluded from Master Nori’s preliminary reports. Yet no one is actually thinking of acting against him. Until now it is all rumours and opinions and as a prince you know how easy it is to influence the mind of the people.

“What Bilbo … I mean Master Baggins heard was horrible for him, I am sure of that. But though he is suffering, he is not really hurt. We just have to make sure that it never comes to that. That the people know him for what he is: our saviour, and that no one even dares to think about raising a hand against him. We can’t protect him day and night and we know that he wouldn’t take the idea of a bodyguard that well. Therefore we have to find a way that no one even dares to think about acting against him. THAT’S what we should set our minds upon. Shadowing him to keep him safe is our last resort, but still an option.”

Putting a hand on his son’s shoulder before taking his own seat again, Thráin continued where Balin left off. “I know Bilbo is a scholar and words are everything to him. Your description of his library, his wide knowledge about versatile topics and how he occupies his free time made that clear. But he is living with dwarrows now. He has to learn that actions speak louder than words. The only question is: what actions should we take?”

After Balin had brought his world into focus again, Thorin allowed his sister to rub his hands, and after hearing from Nori that only the merchants’ guild was more or less the only one who showed grave animosity towards his husband, he felt a lot better. He had seen a whole mountain of dwarrows as enemies and had despaired at that very thought.

But the truth was: the farmers loved ‘their’ hobbit.

The provisions department and the kitchen staff couldn’t be more grateful, because they had been the first to realize how very much Bilbo had done for them.

The miners were indecisive and the smiths vaguely hopeful that their art would be more appreciated again, when starvation was not at the forefront of peoples’ minds. It is hard to find pleasure in the perfectly cut gem, if you are afraid of not surviving the season.

The royal tailor was downright infatuated with the hobbit after the two of them had designed the wedding garments, and had obviously shared his opinion with the rest of his guild.

That the tailor was guild-master, even at his young age, definitely helped. As did Bilbo usually appearing in public in flawless attire, respectable and elegant. No guild could ever be dismissive of somebody who showed so much adoration towards their craft. That was one of the main reasons why Dori was always a welcome guest in their halls. With a tiny push into the right direction, their hobbit would be too.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

The discussion had been long and tiring and Thorin was swaying on his feet when he returned to their chambers. Upon entering the room he heard whispers from Bilbo’s living room. Pulling off his boots at the door, he walked over silently, listening out.

“We could sprinkle salted water on the baker’s pastries. You know like Bilbo does with our hair when he braids flowers into it. Nobody would want to buy his goods if the sweets taste salty.”

Kíli’s voice! He sounded mischievous but more serious than he should at such an outrageous idea.

“If we have water at hand we could douse their torches. That would give them a rightful fright when suddenly standing in the dark!”

Fíli sounded angry, very angry, and Thorin entered to see what had irked his nephew so much.

“We could put sand into that old sod’s oil barrels. You know, the one who called Bilbo useless and vain! Give it a week and he is out of customers!”

Still Fíli, and instead of making another outrageous proposal, Thorin heard Kíli growl. “It would serve him right! That bastard should worry about his trade and not about our hobbit!”

So that was the reason for their anger. Thorin couldn’t help but be proud of his nephews when he finally spotted them in front of a small fire in Bilbo’s living room. They were lying on the plush carpet, facing each other, while planning their revenge on the merchants who had spoken ill of Bilbo.

The hobbit in question was lying rolled up between their bodies; both brothers gently caressed his body, trailing their fingers through his hair to calm him down when he was flinching in his sleep. Obviously Bilbo had finally caved in under the stress and had fallen asleep. Yet his husband’s mind didn’t seem to be at ease, otherwise he wouldn’t be recoiling whenever the merchants were mentioned.

 

Kneeling down by his nephews’ heads, gently kissing their hair to show how very much he approved of their words and actions, Thorin whispered, “Though I really enjoy the pictures you are painting, your mother, grandfather, Balin, Nori and I have just discussed the best course of action. So please keep your plans in mind, but don’t execute them yet. Apart from, maybe, the prank with the saltwater … the baker has a foul mouth and deserves a lesson. But not more than once a week, you hear me?”

Slightly surprised but willing nevertheless, because of their uncles approval of their revenge, both Fíli and Kíli nodded in unison and answered with one voice, “Promised!”

Fíli however added as an afterthought, “But not on Tuesdays. Tuesday, Dwalin buys some cupcakes for mother to enjoy in the evenings. She always has a sweet tooth after the council meetings.”

Folding his arms, looking down at his nephews sternly, Thorin asked, “And how would you know that? Have you two been spying on Dwalin?”

Only to meet the very same look from Kíli, who held his gaze, stating forcefully, “Of course we do! This is our mother we are talking about. If we don’t give Dwalin directions now and then, who will?”

Surprised at that revelation, Thorin sat down on the carpet and asked, “You two are helping him?”

“Of course we are.”

Smiling at his uncle’s sceptical expression, the older prince explained softly, “Have you seen her recently, uncle? Mother is totally in love with Dwalin. And after everything that has happened and everything we have been through, she deserves this. She is happy with him. What more could we want for her?”

For the first time Thorin realized how much his nephews had grown. He hugged them gratefully and whispered, “I am so proud of you, boys. And yes, Dís deserves to be happy and we should do everything in our power to ensure that.”

He glanced at his husband and sighed. After what he had heard this afternoon it would take a lot of time and effort to make Bilbo happy again. “I will just undress and wash before I free you from him.” Thorin tenderly caressed his lovers locks before rising to his feet.

Fíli and Kíli however, didn’t seem taken with that idea. Instantly they inched closer together, putting their hands on Bilbo’s body protectively. As one they shook their heads.

“You can’t take him from us.”

“We promised to be here when he wakes up.”

Smiling inwardly because he knew where this was going, Thorin rose to his feet. “Well, how about I go through my evening routine, pick him up and carry him to my bed, and the two of you join us a few minutes later after you have washed and changed as well?”

Both boys nodded their consent and looked after their uncle when he left towards the bathroom.

Kíli was the first to whisper, “He really has to be furious beyond measure if he allows us to prank the baker. I wonder what he and Bilbo overheard.”

Trailing his fingers through the dark strands of his brother, Fíli hissed, “If someone would spread half the lies we have heard at the market place about you, I would do far worse to them!”

Reaching for his brother’s hand, placing a tender kiss on the palm, Kíli breathed, “I love you, Fíli. You know that, right?”

“Not more than I love you, Kíli. Don’t worry. We will get through this. Bilbo is a great person. We just have to make them see that.” He caressed his brother’s face gently and both revelled in their contact until their uncle returned.

 

Carefully Thorin picked Bilbo up and gestured for his nephews to change while he carried Bilbo back to his rooms. Though they usually preferred Bilbo’s bed, Thorin’s would serve them better for tonight because it was wider and would allow all of them a restful night. Life changed but it rarely got any easier, he mused, when pulling up Bilbo’s favourite quilt. Was one week of freedom and happiness, one single week of honeymoon, really too much to ask?

Half a year ago, he wouldn’t have thought it possible, but looking back now, he realized that his time in the Shire had really been the happiest he had ever had. Thorin asked himself what he could dangle before his father’s eyes so that he would allow him and Bilbo to return there, at least for the summer. Three months were not such a long time after all, and the mountain usually was calm during the hottest months of the year. Though short for all four Durins, it would be a journey back home, and Thorin decided to set his mind upon making that possible for his family.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

When Bilbo woke the next morning he felt sad and tired. He found himself wrapped by several strong dwarven-bodies and didn’t want to rise to face the day, even though he knew that he should make breakfast. When he felt Thorin’s fingers untangling his messy locks and heard his husband whispering, “Bilbo, how …,” he interrupted him swiftly, stating, “I should get up to make breakfast.”

Thorin flopped back onto the bed.

After a few moments, both Fíli and Kíli began stirring as well. Both shared a look, realizing that their hobbit was already gone, and asked, “What shall we do?”

“I will think of something. It won’t do that the royal consort is convinced that the people of the kingdom hate him!” Thorin decided determinedly. He had no clue how to achieve that, but he had to find a way. Seeing Bilbo all hurt and sad nearly broke his heart.

“What if …” Kíli’s words were slurred with sleep, but slowly the youngest dwarf fought his way up in the bed, until he was sitting against the headboard. Pulling at his fingers, deep in thought, he started again after a few moments, when his brother and uncle were looking up at him with interest. “I mean not all dwarrows of our kingdom hate him. I think most of them are quite fond of him. I mean Ori adores him and if Bilbo meets members of the scribes’ guild and can talk to them – because he’s really smart, you know that – maybe they would make him feel better. They surely would be taken with a scholar as royal consort.

“And think about Bombur and his staff. No dwarrows in this mountains are more grateful for what Bilbo has done for them than our cooks and provisions officers. And …”

“And the miners,” Fíli continued his brother’s chain of thought, “Bofur and Bifur like him because he made them babysit the fauntlings. If he visits them in the mines and they introduce him to the others, they would surely like him too. Maybe he could bring some of his little bread-sticks along, as bribery. You know, the hard, sweet ones. Missus Chubb-Baggins always made them for us when we were working in the woods. They are really tasty and give a lot of energy! Bilbo loves to feed people. And the miners surely would appreciate that.”

When their uncle didn’t say anything, both brothers returned their attention to him, only to find Thorin smiling at them proudly. Their cheeks coloured a little because this still was a rare thing for them. For the better part of their lives they had been berated by their uncle because they always played pranks on people and took nothing seriously. But over the summer that had changed. Now their uncle looked at them with pride and even complimented their ideas.

So they readily crawled over each other, to get out of bed, when Thorin rumbled warmly, “Then why are you still in your smallclothes? I think we have a lot of visits to make today. Hurry up, boys!”

 

Not five minutes later, all Durins sat at their hobbit’s kitchen table, ready to receive first breakfast. That Bilbo still looked pale and bleak remained unmentioned. Instead Thorin suggested, “You know, we have spent the last days in the confinement of our rooms. Yesterday we explored the inner valleys, so I think I should introduce you to a few places within the mountain today.”

“Thorin, I … I really don’t want to go out today.” Bilbo was more speaking to his plate than to his husband, and didn’t that tear into Thorin’s heart. Sharing a murderous look with his nephews, he tenderly caressed his husband’s neck, whispering encouragingly, “But Bombur wants to know what you think about his choice of provisions, and Bifur and Bofur have been missing you ever since you worked in the fields.”

Smiling secretively, because he was keeping the best part for last, he breathed into his hobbit’s ear, “And after that, Ori might even give you a tour through our library.”

THAT got his husband’s undivided attention. “A library? Here in the Blue Mountains? But I thought all of your books had been lost.”

Shrugging, feigning nonchalance, because he KNEW that he had his husband, Thorin explained, “Well, we do have scribes. And there are traders who specialise in books and scripts. Many of us took it upon ourselves to write down the history they could remember so that it would not be lost with our kingdom. Our library here might not be as extensive as it was in Erebor, but it might still be worth to take a look. If you are up for it, that is.”

 

Instantly Bilbo busied himself with cleaning the table, although they had not gone through second helpings yet. “Of course I … I would love to see Bombur, and Bifur and Bofur and … and I have not had the chance to talk to Ori in a while so … so I will just get everything in order and maybe we could buy lunch at …” trailing off, because he remembered what had dampened his mood in the first place.

Yet Fíli would have none of these bad thoughts looming over their new uncle’s head. So he took the dishes from Bilbo’s hands and decided, “Bombur would surely be delighted to provide lunch, and we will do the washing up so that you can change and make yourself respectable.”

With the thought of the marketplace firmly pushed out of his mind, Bilbo nodded and dashed off towards his bedroom to find something suitable to wear. He did want to give a good first impression if he was about to meet new people today. And a library … well, appearing dishevelled would be disrespectful towards the scribes and that was something Bilbo would never be.

Meanwhile the young princes gathered the leftovers and dirty dishes for clean-up. Thorin smiled at Fíli and complimented him, “Sneaky, Fíli, you surely came up with a good way to pull Bilbo’s mind away from the merchants.”

Grinning, the dwarf returned the compliment, “Actually you did not so bad yourself, uncle. To dangle the library as great prize before his eyes was brilliant. We should have thought of it yesterday. It would have put Bilbo’s mind at ease much faster.”

“Well,” decided Thorin. “We will do everything in our power to show Bilbo how very much he is appreciated in our community and that the merchants who dislike him are a minority and not worth his tears.”

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 


	25. Old Friends and New Ones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bilbo meets new dwarrows and learns that not all of them think of him as vicious and cruel.

The kitchen, as it turned out, was a great place to start. The moment Bilbo and Thorin stepped through the door, the hobbit was swarmed by dwarrows who told him how very grateful they were for his help. After that, they insisted on showing him their pantries where the food that he had brought along was stored.

They even showed him the corn from their own fields. The harvest was stored away in clearly marked sacks. Bilbo found it – in comparison to the crop from the Shire – small and shrivelled. When touching it, the hobbit wondered how the dwarrows could have eaten this in the first place. It felt wrong, unhealthy and didn’t smell very appetizing.

Yet his mind was taken off the matter when Bombur arrived and hugged him affectionately. At least until Bilbo indicated that he was suffocating in the dwarf’s strong grip, and then he nearly tumbled to the ground because the wide dwarf let go faster than Bilbo could find his footing again. Smiling sheepishly because of his faux pas, Bombur made up for it by showing Bilbo around his kitchen. His people hadn’t dared to do so in their chef’s absence. He made him sample every dish that was simmering on the stove.

Fíli, Kíli and Thorin were waiting on the sidelines, enjoying the sparkle that had returned to their hobbit’s eyes as he was discussing menus. Bombur even offered some shortbread. He had been particularly proud of it because it had come out golden and delicious at his very first try here in the mountains. That made Fíli and Kíli giddy with glee because Bilbo bribing his way into the miners’ hearts would be much easier with such a treat.

So Thorin only allowed them to steal one cookie each, while sharing only one with Bilbo before shooing them out of the kitchen. For, as he stated, they would need quite some time to go down to the mines and up again and Bilbo surely wouldn’t want to waste too much time wandering around when he could spend it in the library.

The hobbit, however, was quite confused at Bombur’s final good-bye before leaving the kitchen. The huge dwarf hugged him once again, more careful this time, and stated, “I am sure we will work together outstandingly. It will be far easier to talk menu and provisions with you, than it has been with Her Royal Highness, the Lady Dís, because you enjoy cooking so much more.”

 

“What did he mean, Thorin? Working with me instead of Dís?” Bilbo had thought Bombur’s words through and they were already half way down the tunnels, when he finally voiced his confusion.

Making sure that Bilbo wouldn’t lose his footing on the gravel paths, Thorin explained, “Well, as royal consort you are responsible for the provisions and their use. For now Dís is taking care of that, but I think Bombur is right. A hobbit seems to be a sensible choice when it comes to planning menus and rationing provisions. And didn’t you tell my sister twice at the end of this summer that you hobbits know your food? So who could be better for the job than you?”

“But Dís … I don’t want to barge into her duties. Surely she wouldn’t take that well. I mean I have just arrived here. I can’t pick up such responsibilities. Especially not if your people … your people don’t …”

Bilbo’s voice had gotten lower and lower in the end, so that Thorin stopped their little trek and gently caressed Bilbo’s face. It said a lot about his hobbit’s state of mind that he instantly came closer, leaning into the caress, making it a hug, even though they were in the middle of the mountain. Embracing his husband, Thorin assured him quietly, “Dís will be grateful for a little help and you are better with food than she is, you know that. As for the people, did you really have the impression that the cooks don’t like you?”

“No but …” Bilbo stated helplessly. Of course the cooks liked him. He had brought them enough to feed their people.

“Dear, …” Thorin was merely whispering now, and Fíli and Kíli were waiting a little down the path, so as not to interrupt them. “Just come with us to the mines, and to the library. The merchants are stupid and biased. Don’t take their opinion as the general mood of our kingdom.”

Nodding reluctantly, Bilbo decided, “Let’s go and see Bifur and Bofur now. I am missing our cheerful friend and his cousin.”

And off they went. Thorin wasn’t entirely convinced that he had been able to make Bilbo understand that one group of dwarrows didn’t reflect the opinion off all of them, but he was willing to go to any length to prove it to Bilbo. They had a few days of honeymoon left, and if he had to visit every last guild with his husband to show that he was generally well liked, he would do exactly that.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

The mines were a frightening place for Bilbo. Deep underground he could feel the stones press in on him from all sides. He inched closer and closer to Thorin until he was practically fused to his side. If his lover noticed his unease, he didn’t say anything about it, he just pulled Bilbo closer, putting his arm around the hobbit’s shoulder, and guided him deep into the heart of the mountain.

For the most part Bilbo concentrated on the boys who told him stories of the mines of Erebor and how brilliant they had been. And while Bilbo suspected that Fíli remembered very little of them, he still encouraged both dwarrows to continue. Truth was, their rants kept him from calculating how much stone was above their heads and how long it would take to dig their way out, in case of a landslide.

A little while ago the boys had rushed ahead again and after a particularly steep way, Bilbo suddenly found himself face to face with a very dirty Bifur and Bofur who hugged him happily. When Bilbo told them that he was here to see them and find out more about their work, he was dragged along faster than he could say ‘tea-time’. Sandwiched between the two miners, Bilbo held onto his box of biscuits as if it was his lifeline and allowed them to pull him with them. Soon he had lost all sense of direction. They walked through passages and around corners Bilbo could never have remembered.

After a little while, Bilbo found himself in front of another dwarf. Like his friends, he too was dirty and his hands were slightly scratched, yet he greeted Bilbo respectfully. “Andvari, Master of the Mines, at your service, royal consort.”

Shaking the offered hand, Bilbo repeated a little uncertainly, “Bilbo, please, and it’s nice to meet you. Are you really working down here all day?”

“Of course we are. Do you want me to show you around, Master Bilbo?” The dwarf, like most others Bilbo had met, seemed to have trouble grasping the concept of first-name basis.

After a brief look at his friends and family, all of whom nodded encouragingly, Bilbo gave a little bow and decided, “That would be most appreciated, Master Andvari.”

Obviously taken by the politeness of the high guest, the dark-haired, rough-looking dwarf showed Bilbo several tunnels where the stone left the mines. They followed a trail until they entered a big chamber, glittering with thin veins of gold and silver, where several dozen dwarrows worked on breaking the precious metal and jewels free from their confining stones, without chipping them.

Bilbo’s question why the metal was not simply melted out of the stone was taken quite positively. Obviously nobody had expected a hobbit to know the first thing about mining. Master Andvari explained in great detail about the process of separating the metal from the stone until Bifur grumbled something from behind. Surprised, the miner looked down at the hobbit and asked, “You don’t understand what I am explaining?”

Rather embarrassed because of his lack of knowledge – mining was so important for dwarrows, he really should have learned about it beforehand – Bilbo admitted, “I’m … I am sure you are doing a great job down here. And I promise to look it up as soon as I can, but quite honestly, no, I didn’t. I am sorry.”

Worriedly Bilbo looked at Thorin, who hadn’t left his side, yet refrained from making a comment. But instead of his husband, Master Andvari placed a heavy hand on his shoulder, while laughing. “It is I who should apologize, My Lord. You honour us by showing interest in our work. With your permission, I would like to try again and explain in simpler terms.”

Flustered by the address, Bilbo shook his head rather emphatically, “On no, please … I am no Lord. You … honestly, Bilbo will suffice. And I would be grateful if you could explain this in easier terms. It seems very interesting. But I don’t want to take up any more of your precious time. I am sure you have a lot to do around here. These mines seem so vast.”

After a brief look at the royal heir, Andvari once more offered his hand to Bilbo, squeezing the hobbit’s smaller one gently, and stated, “Bilbo it is then, and I would be honoured if you would call me just ‘Andvari’.” When the hobbit beamed with delight, the Master of Mines gestured towards an opening and guided Bilbo through, with Bifur and Bofur hot on their heels.

The Durins remained in the central distribution chamber and Fíli and Kíli could barely wait until Bilbo and the Master of Mines were out of earshot before high-fiving each other. When Thorin shook his head at their inappropriate behaviour, Fíli merely laughed. “Admit it, uncle, you are proud too. Apart from Bombur who had fallen in love with Bilbo’s pantry even before meeting our hobbit, that was the fastest vote of confidence anybody has ever gotten around here. Bilbo charmed Master Andvari right off his feet and we didn’t even have to bring out the cookies.”

Reaching for the cookie box that Bilbo had absently pushed into Thorin’s hands at his first meeting with the Master of the Mines, Kíli pondered, “Do you think we could eat them now? We don’t need bribery any more. And it would be too sad to let the good shortbread go to waste.”

Thorin kept the box out of reach of his youngest nephew. “Of course not. They were meant to be a present. So Bilbo will offer it when his walkabout is over. Don’t even think about nicking another one, Kíli. I saw you steal one when Bilbo was listening to the explanations about the mining!”

At least Kíli had the honesty to appear contrite, but whether it was because of the actual act of stealing or because he had been caught remained unknown. They decided that their hobbit had just had enough time alone with the miners and followed the little group.

 

Bilbo paid close attention at the dwarf’s words. Now that the Master of Mines put an effort into finding simpler terms, he understood that melting the metal out of the stone needed far hotter temperatures than a mere fire could provide. That there was a delicate balance between melting the metal and not melting the stone. He was especially fascinated when he saw the many tables with numerous lights where dwarrows of all sizes and shapes were carefully peeling away the stone to reveal the gems inside.

Here Bofur and Bifur showed them their own workplaces and Bilbo admired them adequately. He even picked up a few red and green gems from their workplace, showing them to his friends and deciding with a smile that they could look like a flower when arranged properly. After that little display he carefully placed them back into their respective segments, careful not to drop them or to mess with the order on the tables, something that was well noticed by the dwarrows who accompanied him.

 

As they continued their tour, Bilbo didn’t see the Master of Mines share a brief word with Bifur and Bofur. Neither did he notice his friends staying behind, picking the exact same shards out of their boxes again and handing them off to another miner who dashed off with them.

Well, Bilbo didn’t notice but Thorin did. The prince couldn’t help but smile at how fast his hobbit was able to gain his people’s sympathy, simply by being himself: eager to learn and to explore even the most exotic places.

He hurried along when he heard Bilbo making a frightened noise. Beside his husband two heartbeats later, he hugged him from behind before looking around what had scared him. He couldn’t help but laugh when he found them at the very edge of the mines, looking down hundreds of meters into the core of the mountain.

“That’s … by everything that is sacred, that’s unbelievable.” Bilbo stammered, trembling slightly when looking down.

Good-naturedly Thorin grumbled into his ear, “Afraid of heights, dear?”

“That … NO! But … that’s not natural. I have no problems with climbing trees but that’s … down there … that’s just too much. How can you … how could any of you?” Bilbo was looking at Andvari, who seemed to be slightly taken aback by the hobbit’s reaction.

Yet the dwarf was pacified instantly, when Bilbo gazed at him with admiration and wonder, stating, “That’s so deep! You all have to be incredibly brave to work in such a place. That’s really amazing!”

With a kind smile, Andvari said, “Deep within the mountain, that’s where its core can be found. There always is one you know. The heart of each mountain, the greatest treasure he can give.”

Looking down into the glistering depth, Bilbo whispered, “You are talking about the Arkenstone.”

Slightly surprised that the royal consort knew about this lost treasure, the Master of Mines was irritated when Bilbo whispered at his husband, “That stone brought madness to your grandfather, Thorin, and for a little while even to your father. A heart is only healthy and strong as long as it sits inside the body.”

Turning towards Andvari, Bilbo sighed and shook his head. “I’m sorry to say this, but I hope you will never find it. This mountain is a good place, because his heart is exactly where it belongs.”

Placing his chin on his husband’s head, thinking about the present and the past while looking into the depth of the mines, Thorin contemplated quietly. “Maybe you are right, Bilbo. Maybe we are tempting fate by looking for it anew.” And with that Thorin nudged Bilbo back from the edge of the mines, guiding him towards the upper mine-shafts where the majority of the gems were mined.

Lost in thought, Andvari followed the Royal Highnesses. He had never thought about the Arkenstone that way. All his life, well, ever since coming here and being promoted to Guild master, he had set his mind upon finding an equally precious jewel inside of these mountains as the one they had discovered in Erebor. He had abandoned rich shafts in favour of digging deeper. Now for the first time, he was wondering if that had been the right decision.

True, Thrór had reigned for nearly a century unconcerned and well respected. But then his gold-sickness had taken him, had made him neglect his people, his kingdom, even his family. And in the end, it had all gone up in flames. The prince’s consort was right. They could have a good life here. It surely was better now that the hobbit was here, for he had brought food for them. He had set his mind upon relocating the fields and had promised rich harvest in the middle of the next year. Maybe Andvari should give him time, one season, maybe two.

If the Blue Mountains became a home equal to Erebor, there was no need for another Arkenstone to back up Thráin’s reign. People would be loyal and respectful because he had made a new home for them; a home where they could life happy and prosperous. One season … maybe two. Surely that was not too much to ask. There were so many rich shafts up here. They could find untold treasures and increase the wealth of their new kingdom. Maybe he should think about it … maybe give it a try.

 

When the Master of Mines caught up with the Royal Highnesses, he found Fíli and Kíli explaining about the different stones, their properties and meanings. It was obvious that their tutor had taught them well. Yet, when the Durins noticed his return, he picked up the conversation again and together they entered several shafts, where different gems were harvested. It was long past midday and Bilbo had offered the box the prince had carried for him, as a compensation for the forgotten meal.

The Master of the Mines was delighted by the pastries and shared them with his men. They were small and easy to carry, yet they tasted rich and satisfying. When Bilbo promised to ask Bombur for more, every last miner seemed taken with that idea. The Guild Master allowed them a longer break than usual, to give them the chance to ask questions to the royal consort. But after an hour he ordered them back to work.

As expected, the princes and the hobbit announced that they should take their leave, having taken up enough of his time. He attempted to stall them, but when he saw a boy entering the distribution chamber, he knew him to be an errand boy for one of the jewellers. Holding the hobbit back one last time, he humbly offered the small parcel. “You have honoured us with your visit and we would like to offer an open invitation for you to return any time you like, Bilbo. Please take this as a token of our appreciation.”

When Bilbo looked questioningly at the parcel, Thorin nudged him to open it, having a very good idea what it may contain.

The hobbit was completely flabbergasted when he found the gem shards he had picked up earlier in the precise pattern he had designed, carefully set into a highly polished silver brooch, which seemed to make the gems sparkle from within. Completely baffled, he stuttered, “But that’s … that’s too valuable. I could never …”

Yet Master Andvari just bowed and closed the hobbit’s hand around the parcel. “We would really appreciate it, if you would keep this as a reminder of your first visit in our mines.”

When Bilbo looked helplessly at his family and friends, only to find all of them nodding encouragingly, he smiled tentatively. “Well, it is really beautiful! Thank you very much.” After freeing the trinket from the parcel, he fastened it onto his waistcoat, directly above his heart. After that he hugged the surprised dwarf, thanking him once again, before the Master of Mines pulled back to allow the friends of the royal consort to say their good-bye as well.

Bifur and Bofur nudged Bilbo’s forehead with theirs, promising to follow his invitation to dinner, once the ‘honeymoon’ was over.

And with a new friend, several new acquaintances and a beautiful new piece of jewellery, the royal family left he mines of the Blue Mountains.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

Though Bilbo really couldn’t wait to see the library, he had to admit that he was truly exhausted after climbing down to the mines and up again.

So when the boys suggested a second lunch, Bilbo was quite taken with the idea. The planned location of the meal however made him unsure if he needed it at all, and that really said a lot about the hobbit. Yet Fíli and Kíli insisted that Dori’s new teashop would be the perfect place for a relaxing lunch break, and after a moment’s hesitation and a grumbling from his stomach, Bilbo finally gave in.

That Thorin too wasn’t terribly thrilled with the idea showed when he edged closer to Bilbo, as soon as they entered the marketplace. Yet the princes held their heads high, glaring down every merchant they passed. So, without any unpleasant whispers, the Durins arrived at the teashop and as soon as they entered Bilbo instantly felt transferred back to the Shire.

Dori’s teahouse was truly a work of art. Everything was light and airy. The main room had a high roof with several shelves lining the walls. Some lower shelves held stuffed toys for smaller guests, tea-sets in all colours were perched on the upper ones, and inbetween books on several topics were available for browsing while relaxing with a steaming cuppa.

The tables were covered with white cloth and the seats held colourful cushions. But the most brilliant thing was the smell. It smelled like freshly brewed tea and pastries that had come right out of the oven. Several plates on the counter held sandwiches with different fillings and a few tiered trays showed colourful cookies and little cupcakes.

One corner of the shop had been transformed into a playground with a soft mat covering the stone floor. Currently Gilla and Gimli were sitting beside the mat, watching over a dwarfling who was chewing on a wooden block that Dori had offered for the children’s amusement. Apparently satisfied with the taste, the little dwarfling placed it on a tower of blocks in front of him. Now and then Gilla offered a sandwich, which the child declined emphatically. However, when Gimli offered the same bread, the little child merely opened his mouth and took a big bite before returning to her play.

Dori was delighted to be able to serve the royal family and the consort on his second day after opening. For now, not many dwarrows had found their way into his establishment. But having members of the royal family as his guests would surely increase his fame. Therefore he asked delightedly, “So, Master Baggins, Royal Highnesses, what can I offer you today?”

“Well, we came here because our lunch contained merely shortbread and strange-tasting water. Fíli and Kíli promised me that your food would be much more satisfying. What would you recommend, Master Dori?” Bilbo instantly relaxed when sitting comfortably in such cosy surroundings. Without a second thought he agreed to everything Dori wished to serve. After a few minutes they all were sharing lunch, occasionally including Gloin’s family in their conversation when Gimli tried to impress them with his knowledge of mining.

Sadly Bilbo had to admit that the young dwarf really was better educated than he in that regard. They would visit the library this afternoon. Surely it would be possible to borrow a few texts, so that he too could learn about mining and the associated crafts. He wouldn’t want to leave the impression that he wasn’t interested in his new home.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

It took them nearly two hours before they finally left the teashop. Dori had offered several samples of tea and pastries and only after Thorin’s insistence had he allowed the Durins to pay for their lunch. Now Bilbo was standing before the impressive doors of the Blue Mountain’s Library. Excitedly he grinned at Thorin and the boys before opening them.

Upon his entering, he found himself face to face with a dwarf who had his nose deep in a book, who told them without looking up, “We are currently preparing for an important visit. Please come again tomorrow.”

Bilbo, on the other hand, could only grin at the picture of the small dwarf who wore knitwear and seemed more taken with the written word than the spoken one. Having an idea who that ‘important visit’ was, he merely teased, “Am I not even worth a ‘hello’, Ori? Have you forgotten me so soon after leaving the Shire?”

The squeak Ori gave was expected, but not him throwing away his book. Luckily Fíli and Kíli had great reflexes and caught it for the young scribe who instantly flushed red right to the tip of his ears, when taking it back from them. After fidgeting for a moment, he finally admitted, hugging the hobbit tight, “No, of course not, Master Bilbo. I am sorry, I didn’t see you.”

After a respectful bow towards Thorin, Ori gestured towards the numerous books. “Well then, be welcome in our library. It’s not as extensive as it was in Erebor, or so I have been told, but we are doing our very best to preserve our history and our traditions. Where do you want to start?”

“Mining, if that is alright with you,” Bilbo answered instantly.

And with that the two were off. Thorin, Fíli and Kíli took their time inspecting the new library, admiring the copies of lost books and the newly acquired ones. But the boys swiftly got bored, not really ones for the written word, at least if it was not read to them, and asked to be excused. Aware that this was a safe haven for his hobbit, Thorin dismissed them, before looking for his husband.

Bilbo was talking animatedly with Ori and the librarian. The three of them spent a long while discussing the merits of one book over another, and when Bilbo finally had a pile of books in front of him, Thorin picked them up and guided Bilbo towards a small room at the side. The reading chamber contained nothing but a table, a sofa and a fireplace. It could be closed off with a thick curtain so that a visitor could indulge in his books undisturbed.

After coaxing the embers of the fireplace back to life, Thorin pulled off his shoes and sat down beside Bilbo, nudging his thigh with his feet. When Bilbo put a hand on them to keep them still, Thorin sighed contently and closed his eyes. With the fire and the silence that was only interrupted by the turning of pages, or his hobbit mumbling to himself when taking occasional notes, Thorin could give in to the illusion that this was nothing but another afternoon in Bag End. Maybe they should visit the library more often.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please go back to chapter 23. As before the amazing arrogantcatdoux drew a picture for me where my abilities simply were lacking. 
> 
> http://arrogantcatdoux.tumblr.com/post/69223440586/chest-and-the-puzzle-for-anchanee  
> This is the original picture. Isn't it amazing? The perfect chest Thráin could have made for his new son in law.


	26. Fees to pay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Living in the Blue Mountains is not free of charge. Once a year a payment has to be made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm afraid to say the honeymoon is very much over now. The hard reality is catching up with our favourite couple and not all of them are dealing very well with it.

The fourth night after their wedding, the dreams returned.

 

Bilbo and Thorin had had quite an enjoyable time in the library of the Blue Mountains and the hobbit was sure that he could spend his entire time there and be content. There were so many books and scrolls, a lot of them in Westron. Those which were not, Ori had offered to translate if Bilbo was truly interested.

The librarian himself turned out to be a really charming dwarf. Knitwear seemed to be standard wear of the Scribes’ Guild and Bilbo could rely to that. When sitting still for a long time, one could get cold. Understandably, these dwarrows were REALLY cautious with open fires in these rooms. Not that Bilbo could blame them. The mere thought of so many treasures going up on in flames was horrible to him. And suddenly, for the first time really ever since hearing of the tragedy of Smaug’s attack, Bilbo could understand how the dwarrows had felt that day.

His hug and his apology had come unexpectedly to Regin, the Master of Scribes. But then Bilbo had explained about HIS books and what they meant to him. He shared stories about his studies in the great libraries of Rivendell and how long he had been sitting in his own home, deciding on what to bring and that the only thing he hadn’t been able to leave behind had been his numerous books and scrolls. The thought of the dwarrows of Erebor losing their entire history to that dragon nearly brought tears to Bilbo’s eyes.

After that quite emotional confession, Regin and Bilbo had got along perfectly and had talked until late into the night. The Master of Scribes had even asked permission to visit Bilbo in the royal chambers to look at his books. Both the dwarf and the hobbit seemed equally excited at that prospect.

After a brief chat with Dwalin, who had apparently something important to tell Thorin, they returned to their room, had a late dinner and fell into bed. And though Bilbo thought about asking Thorin what his friend had told him, he refrained from doing so. If it was important, Thorin surely would tell.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

It was long past midnight, at least from the looks of it, because the moon stood high in the sky and Bilbo was wondering what had woken him at such an ungodly hour. Looking around, he realized that the comfortable weight on his chest was gone. He noticed that, there was sweat beading on Thorin’s forehead and his lover was muttering in distress – and not very nice things from the sound of it – in Khuzdul. He shivered occasionally and that really was Bilbo’s last clue: his husband was having a nightmare, again.

Usually he shivered in his sleep or whimpered, he lashed out and sometimes he even cried. Bilbo had constrained him more than once in Bag End so as to not get hit. But today he just seemed anxious and worried, and when the hobbit gently put his hand on Thorin’s chest, whispering calming words, the dwarf relaxed again and turned towards his lover. After a few moments the nightmare was dispelled and both found their restful sleep.

 

When Bilbo asked Thorin the next morning if he was alright, his husband brushed off the topic and assured him that nothing was wrong. That they would meet the tailor today, who had promised Bilbo a warmer wardrobe for the winter months – something the hobbit now knew he could afford – put the worry for his husband out of Bilbo’s mind for the moment. But he promised to himself to keep Thorin under close scrutiny the next night.

Their trip to the tailor took nearly all day, because even though Bilbo’s measurements were already stored in their customer list, the Master of Tailors brought out cloth after cloth, warm or silky, rich or embroidered or all of the above and Bilbo lost himself in admiration for the fabrics.

The hobbit looked at pictures of different cuts, some even drawn up right there until finally the tailor and he decided on a handful of materials and styles the hobbit would be inclined to wear. The dwarf had been particularly impressed by the colourful brooch Bilbo was wearing. The hobbit really hadn’t put it down ever since Master Andvari had given it to him, and the tailor promised to make him a coat of deep, dark grey that would emphasize its beauty.

Thorin had just tagged along, smiling when the dwarf and his husband lost themselves in fabrics and cuts, and had provided both with treats and drinks throughout the day. Honestly, he could be content to just watch his hobbit, who found so much joy in a simple waistcoat that was tailored to his liking.

Even his preference in fabrics was rather muted and earthy. Bilbo didn’t fancy heavy and embroidered materials and he had no patience for fur applications. He generally decided on simple cuts made of fabric of excellent quality. Obviously his husband didn’t plan on letting go of his liking for simple shirts and waistcoats any time soon. And while he polished his new brooch now and then, Thorin knew that Bilbo treasured it because of the sentiment behind it, not because of its monetary value.

Humming to himself, Thorin used this time to draw up a new headband for his hobbit. Bilbo treasured the one he had given him so much that Thorin wished to create something new for him; something that would reflect his status, but simple enough that it was to his husband’s liking. He knew his hobbit to prefer simplicity to grand designs, so he always returned to a simple brass band … on the other hand … maybe mithril would be an alternative. The precious metal was worthy to be worn by the royal consort, yet unobtrusive enough in its appearance so that it could be to his husband’s liking.

The decorations … well, there he could do something. Flowers, leaves, gem shards that would sparkle and bring out the light in Bilbo’s eyes. The possibilities were numerous if Thorin could find a sufficiently modest shape. The dwarf enjoyed designing a complete set of jewellery for his husband, while Bilbo was entertained by the royal tailor. Although Thorin knew that Bilbo would never approve of the whole set because he would deem it too much, he decided that they had years and years of marriage ahead of them, and maybe he could gift these items to him one at a time.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

Thorin woke that night, drenched in sweat and breathing hard. He was anxious, close to panicking; forcing himself to take even breaths, he started looking for his husband. Yet he found the bed beside him to be empty. Noticing lit candles in the bathroom, Thorin slid out of bed and padded over. There he found his consort leaning over one of the basins, a cloth pressed to his neck, sniffling quietly.

“Bilbo, what …” His hobbit had to be sick to come here. Pushing his anxiety aside, Thorin approached Bilbo, only to notice that husband was glaring at him, blood dripping from his nose.

The hobbit’s voice was thick when he asked, “So you are finally awake then? Took you long enough. Wash your hands so that you don’t get blood on the floor. I don’t want to add a concussion to a broken nose, just because I slipped.”

Looking at his hands, the dwarf blanched when he saw the knuckles of his left hand smeared with blood. “By Mahal, what did I do?” Terrified, Thorin approached Bilbo, ready to retreat if his husband showed any signs of fear.

Yet Bilbo merely gestured impatiently towards the second basin, sighing exasperatedly. “No, you haven’t actually broken my nose, I was just exaggerating. I have learned to deal with your nightmares ever since the Shire but I really could do without being slapped awake so hard that I have a nosebleed. Do you still want to tell me that there is nothing wrong, Thorin?”

It was beyond Thorin how someone in wet and slightly bloody nightclothes, barefoot and in the soft light of candles, could be so intimidating, but his hobbit managed quite well. Washing his hands, presenting Bilbo with another wet rag to press to his neck, the dwarf sat down at the edge of the tub. While his hobbit still remained by the basin, waiting for the nosebleed to stop, Bilbo managed to throw him demanding looks inbetween leaning forward to wipe away some droplets of blood.

“Dwalin told me two days ago that the delegation from the Blue Mountain dwarrows will be arriving tomorrow. They come to pick up their taxes.” Thorin’s voice was quiet and worried when sharing that information.

A little lost in the situation, Bilbo put a clean rag to his face and approached his husband. Sitting down next to him, he asked, “So?”

“I have never …” Thorin started, looking at his hands. “I have always been there to make that payment. For even though my father was king at the time of our arrival, it was I who negotiated the terms of our sheltering. And while their price seemed fair at that time, they always offer food at a horrendous price when the taxes are paid. I never know if I can scrape together enough to satisfy their demands.”

Smiling slightly, trailing pacifying fingers through his husband’s hair, Bilbo reminded him, “But you don’t have to pay for their food this year. We have enough to get us through the winter and spring-time.”

Nodding absent-mindedly, Thorin admitted, “I know that, but still … It was always me who executed the exchange. This is the first time in twenty-one years that I won’t be there.”

“Why would you not be there?” Quite honestly, Bilbo couldn’t see the problem so far. They were no longer in Hobbiton and if the exchange didn’t take place in the Mountains of these other dwarrows – something that was highly unlikely because they couldn’t come here if that was the plan – he saw no reason why his husband shouldn’t make the payment himself.

Gesturing between them, offering another rag, Thorin stated, “Because we are still in seclusion. You said that we’re not allowed to participate in official affairs.”

Lowering the rag, grateful that his nosebleed had finally stopped, Bilbo reached for his husband’s neck and brought their foreheads together. “You stupid dwarf, the seclusion is a gift for the newlyweds. If you want to stay by your father’s side tomorrow, so be it. The honeymoon is a present, not a prison. Oh my sweet, why didn’t you tell me about this two days ago? We could have spared you a lot of worry!”

Touching his husband’s face reluctantly, Thorin whispered, “And you a lot of pain. I am so sorry, Bilbo. I didn’t want to hit you.”

Grinning a little, Bilbo told him with a wink, “That’s the second time you tell me that. And it always happens in your bedroom. I wonder what this says about us.”

Head hanging low in shame, Thorin followed Bilbo back to his bedroom. When they were back in bed, safely wrapped around each other, Bilbo whispered, “You know, if you would like to make amends, I could think of several things to make this up to me.”

Glancing up at his lover’s mischievous eyes, Thorin asked with a small smile, “And what might that be?”

Trailing his index finger over his husband’s forehead, down his nose until he had reached his mouth, Bilbo whispered alluringly, “Maybe I should show you tomorrow. But I think it would be better if I secure you on the bed, we can’t have you hitting me a third time, can we?”

All of a sudden Thorin’s mouth felt dry. Nervously he croaked, “Securing me, as in binding me to it?”

“Hmmm…” was Bilbo’s sole answer, before he kissed his lover’s head and turned his face to the side so that he could continue this night’s rest.

Thorin didn’t find it so easy to calm down again. The thought of Bilbo tying him to the bed did all sorts of things with his entrails. The outlook to start such a play was exciting but a little alarming as well. He would be entirely at Bilbo’s mercy. His hobbit had shown great restraint in bed while Thorin had close to none. What would Bilbo do to him when he found Thorin at his disposal? Did Thorin even want that?

His hobbit would never do anything Thorin didn’t like, the dwarf was sure of that. His questions during the public claiming had showed that Bilbo would readily have stood up against an entire kingdom, had Thorin been overly uncomfortable. That alone told him that his husband would never, ever, do anything to harm him, be it physically or mentally. And who knew, maybe Thorin would even like it.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

Dwalin had informed Thorin that the guests would arrive late in the evening. Thorin expected them to gather in the throne room around ten the next day, demanding what was rightfully theirs. After sharing a calming first breakfast with his husband, Thorin allowed Tamon to lay out his regal attire while he told Bilbo everything there was to know about their latest guests.

The original inhabitants of the Blue Mountains had lived here ever since the Drowning of Beleriand. They looked back at a long line of just and fair rulers and had delved deep into the Mountains to gain wealth that granted their prosperity. They had trading agreements with the Elves from the Grey Havens – something that Thorin admitted only from between clenched teeth – and had ‘generously’ offered their abandoned town to the refugees from Erebor when Thorin had approached them more than twenty years ago.

Thorin had been grateful for the offer at that time, he truly had. But after years of struggling and barely surviving, he thought them arrogant and snobbish. When Bilbo smiled at that statement, he merely raised an eyebrow in question.

“That sounds very much like something my grandfather said about you lot, at the beginning of the summer. It seems to be a trait all dwarrows share,” Bilbo informed him, before exchanging one neckcloth for another, because it would go better with the outfit he had chosen.

While Bilbo was pondering which coat to wear, Thorin entered his own rooms and allowed Tamon to dress him. He had always enjoyed the heavy clothes and rich furs of his ceremonial clothes. They seemed to work as a shield between him and the unpleasant matters that came with being responsible for an entire kingdom. Yet today, they simply felt like too much. When he finally picked up his headband, a substitute for a crown, he looked at himself in the mirror and hummed thoughtfully.

“Is something the matter, My Lord?” Tamon looked up from his job of straightening the clothes of his young master.

Looking over his attire with a critical eye, Thorin mused, “It’s quite a lot, don’t you think?”

Lowering his head to hide his smile, his servant merely stated, “It is, compared to the attire of a hobbit,” before bowing low and excusing himself.

Bilbo had chosen that very moment to enter Thorin’s room. He glowed a little at the approving nod Tamon had thrown him before retreating. “You look very impressive, lover.”

Turning around, Thorin found Bilbo in his best clothes. As usual, his hobbit wore trousers that only reached his shank, but they were of a deep, dark grey, beautifully accompanied by a deep-blue waistcoat. Underneath he wore a creamy white shirt and the leather armour Gloin had given him as a wedding present. The mute colours of the whole outfit seemed to emphasize the colour of his coat, the colour of Durin family.

Bilbo had refrained from wearing the colourful brooch the miners had given him, but when Thorin straightened his neckcloth, he found a worn leather band underneath and knew his crooked scale to sit right above Bilbo’s heart. When Bilbo offered him the hairband that Thorin had given to him on the day of the harvest festival, the dwarf smiled proudly and helped Bilbo to fasten it beneath his braids. Brushing his copper locks and the hair on his feet one last time, Bilbo spun in the middle of the room.

“Do you deem my attire suitable for a royal consort?” Bilbo asked, and when he straightened his sleeves one last time, Thorin could see Nori’s sheath and the knob of Dís’s dagger. Although the dwarf was aware that his hobbit was still defenceless because he didn’t know the first thing about wielding a weapon, he felt relieved that Bilbo was armed. So he kissed his husband’s locks and assured him, “Absolutely.”

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

Thráin and Dís looked surprised when Bilbo and Thorin joined them one hour ahead of the planned meeting.

Dís’s question, “I thought you were still on your honeymoon,” was answered by Bilbo with a simple, “This is important to Thorin.”

Balin was the only one who didn’t seem surprised at his prince’s arrival.

While the Durins were deciding on the best course of action, the white-haired dwarf brought Bilbo up to speed. The dwarrows of the southern mountains had brought a considerable amount of corn and vegetables. It would surely help to have them included in their stocks. Yet, as every year, the price was more than horrendous.

With a smile Bilbo stated, “Well, that’s what haggling is for.”

When Balin raised his bushy eyebrows Bilbo prompted, “We are well off on our own. Yet these dwarrows obviously had planted enough to sustain our people? Who would they sell their goods to, if we don’t buy them? I assume that the elves of the Grey Havens are self-sustaining. The Shire would never buy food from dwarrows, especially not after seeing your attempts at fieldwork. That leaves only us and if they don’t want their merchandise to go to waste, they have to sell. You can keep corn, if stored correctly, close to indefinitely, but you can only go so far with vegetables. Let’s just wait and see what is offered and then we can start talking about the price.”

When Balin smiled at Bilbo enigmatically, the hobbit asked confused, “What?”

“They won’t know what hit them once you state our position.”

“Me?” Bilbo blanched a little.

Balin merely shook his head at him, “Of course you, Master Baggins. As royal consort, the care and coordination of provisions falls into your area of expertise.”

“But I thought Dís …”

“What about me?” The princess, obviously bored by the discussion between her father and brother, joined Balin and Bilbo.

She was surprised to hear Bilbo stating nervously, “Well … you have these fields of duty, and Bombur and Balin have told me that some of them are mine now. But I can’t steal your assignments away from you. You have done these things much longer than me. How should I know what we need and what’s a reasonable price for the goods?”

Surprised, Dís answered, “From what I heard from Bombur and Balin, you were the one to complete the lists of provisions we would need until our first harvest.”

“Yes, but …”

“And you travelled with Balin through the entire Shire, to assure that we got the needed food at a fair price.”

“Of course, but were traded with hobbits! I know our food and I know my family!”

Patting Bilbo’s shoulder calmingly, the princess reminded her brother-in-law, “Well, the food shouldn’t be any different and we don’t need it to survive any more. You are in a good position, just pay what you deem fair. Maybe add about ten percent because you are not dealing with family. But I am sure that you will be brilliant at this, Bilbo. Don’t worry. We will have someone accompanying you, to make sure you don’t get hoodwinked.”

“Who?” Slowly Bilbo picked up his courage again. True, they didn’t need the goods, he had just said so himself. So if he couldn’t acquire them, so be it. If he could get them at a decent price, even better. It really was a win-win-situation.

With a smile, because she realized that their hobbit had come around, Dís suggested, “Nori?”

At that proposal, Bilbo smiled. He could work with Nori. The dwarf was trustworthy and paid excellent attention, more than Bilbo had fancied at certain points in his past. Nori was surely one of the best dwarrows to have his back. He looked up when Thráin called them together and took a steeling breath when taking his designated place at Thorin’s side. Together they entered the throne room.

His first official appearance as royal consort, new dwarrows, here we come.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

The whole ordeal – and from the looks of it, it was exactly that for his husband – took less than half an hour. Very little time for so much preliminary worry. There were brief exchanges in Khuzdul, greetings, good wishes and a reference towards him, at least if Bilbo remembered the words ‘royal consort’ right. He was a little surprised when the king changed the language of the conversation to Westron.

Standing tall and regal, Thráin gestured for Bilbo to step forth and introduced him properly, “This is the royal consort, Bilbo Baggins. If you have food to offer for sale, please talk to him. He has assumed the responsibilities of caring for our provisions and I am sure that you will be able to come to an agreement.”

When the dwarrows of the southern mountains shared a laugh, snickering about something one of them said in Khuzdul, Bilbo heard Thorin translating quietly. “They say that a halfling like you, surely won’t make it long in this position, regarding that he has a mountain of half-starved dwarrows to feed.”

When Bilbo looked at him with squinted eyes, Thorin merely confirmed the insult with a shrug. He wouldn’t dishonour his husband by sugar-coating the other dwarrows’ words.

After exchanging a brief look with the king and receiving an encouraging nod from Thráin, Bilbo stepped forth and approached their guests. He bowed respectfully before stating in a calm and friendly tone, “I want to thank you very much for your concern, but I will tell you that I am perfectly whole and not half of anything. _I_ am a hobbit of the Shire and would be grateful if you would address me as such. About your food, I would be delighted to see what you have to offer and then we can talk about the price.”

Hisses and accusations were thrown at him and even more so at his family. How did they dare to teach him their sacred language? Bilbo however remained perfectly calm as did the Durins, and when the scolding had died down he stated with a smile, “As I said: I am a hobbit. I neither speak the sacred language of your people, nor am I able to understand it. I have, however, in Thorin Oakenshield a supportive husband and he was friendly enough to translate your words for me.”

Having the dignity to look at least the tiniest bit sheepish, one of the dwarrows pulled forth a list and offered it to Bilbo. Luckily it was written in Westron and contained the whole merchandize these dwarrows had brought with them. At the end of it, a completely disproportional price was written.

Keeping himself from staggering at that outrageous request, Bilbo took a deep breath to keep his composure. They didn’t need this food. It would help them if it was of good quality but they didn’t need it!

Deciding to make their position clear right from the beginning, the royal consort returned the list with a respectful bow, stating calmly, “Thank you, but no thank you. Though your food would make a nice addition to what I have brought from Hobbiton, the price is unsuitable. Even more so, when I don’t know the quality of your harvest.”

Turning around, forcing his heartbeat to calm down, he barely made two steps towards his family, when he was called back by a female voice, “And pray, how much would a hobbit pay for our food?”

Turning around, he found himself face to face with a beautiful lady-dwarf. Only now had she pulled back her hood, revealing silky golden locks and the softest beard imaginable. Assuming that this was a female of status, Bilbo bowed deeply to show his respect, “If the goods are of good quality, I am willing to pay half of what you demand. You know that it is suitable for what you are offering, my lady.”

Yet now it was Thráin’s turn to interrupt the hobbit, “Princess Sigrún, we were not made aware of your arrival.”

Taking a step back so that he would not come between the dwarven princess and the king, Bilbo was surprised to find the lady-dwarf smiling down at him, before she turned towards her companions. “Show him the supplies. We will talk about the price later.”

Seemingly unhappy with that decision, the dwarf who had offered the list bowed before her and then invited Bilbo to follow. Assuring himself that this was alright – both Thorin and Thráin were nodding their consent – Bilbo followed the foreign dwarf and left behind the royal family with their obviously royal guest. The princess had been breathtakingly beautiful, shining like the sun, graceful and friendly.

So why was Bilbo’s stomach clenching, when he saw Thorin offering his arm to her, guiding the lady towards the council chamber?

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 


	27. A Foreign Princess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A beautiful, cunning princess with golden hair. Right out of a story book. Just. You. Wait!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, I am having a week from hell, I swear to you. Electronic billing is a thing invented by the devil to torture our poor souls.  
> So I decided to make at least some of you happy with another chapter. Please, lighten up my week and comment, if you don't like the chapter at least tell me something funny so that I can smile again. Anyway, next week it's Christmas and should I not manage another update: MERRY, MERRY, CHRISTMAS TO ALL OF YOU!!! With lot's of presents and cookies and eggnog and all that should go with it.  
> Love you all.

The merchandize indeed WAS of good quality. Bilbo took his time to inspect the vegetables, the fruit and the corn once Nori had appeared out of nowhere. The hobbit still was nervous about this assignment, but having a friend to support him gave him enough peace of mind to concentrate on the food.

It would indeed make a nice addition to the provisions from the Shire. For even if his family had been generous in their support, what they had acquired would help them to get through the winter without anybody starving. With this food, however, they would make it comfortably far into the next spring, not having to worry about rationing the provisions.

 

When Bilbo and Nori returned to the mountain, they directed their steps towards the council chamber because Bilbo suspected the royals would be there talking about the affairs of the Mountain. Maybe they could make some time to talk with him about the supplies. Not wanting to interrupt, Bilbo entered unheard. Yet he froze when he spotted Thorin and Sigrún at the end of the room.

While Thráin and Dís were conversing with the other dwarrows from the southern mountains, the princess was talking to his husband in hushed, alluring tones, touching his chest in an inappropriately intimate gesture. Yet instead of pulling back, Thorin merely took her hands, putting them to his forehead reverently, before lowering them so that they were only clasped between their bodies. Feeling the ugly thorn of jealousy, Bilbo was grumbling lowly until Nori put his hand on the hobbit’s shoulder.

Mindful of the support, Bilbo took a moment to compose himself, coughing politely before approaching the pair. Instantly they stepped back from each other, and the princess turned towards the hobbit.

Respectfully, yet in a slightly distant tone Bilbo informed her that he found the goods to be of high quality, and was willing to pay the promised price, with additional five percent to get the chance to get the same amount of food at the same time next year. Finding the deal acceptable, the princes sealed it with a handshake before excusing herself, joining the king and his daughter for an early lunch.

Nori took the chance to retreat, because once the spouses were alone, Bilbo lost his composure and glared daggers at his husband. “Do you want to share with me what the two of you were talking about? You seemed awfully familiar with her, and considering that you have never mentioned her before, I have to say I am a little surprised.”

Confused by his husband’s anger, Thorin stated, “I have known her ever since we came here. Princess Sigrún merely preferred to stay in her part of the mountains most of the time. But hearing of our wedding she wanted to deliver her and her father’s best wishes and offer a present.”

Irritated by the witnessed intimacy between the dwarrows, Bilbo hissed, “And she had to touch you to offer these wishes?”

“No, but she offered herself. We can’t have children so she thought it a generous proposition for us to be together so that I could add another heir to our family. That was what she offered: to carry my child. Lady-dwarrows are sparse and her proposal is very generous,” Thorin told his husband, clearly confused what Bilbo was so upset about. Hobbits were hugging and touching each other on a regular basis, why was his lover suddenly so irritated because of it? All Thorin had done was thank the princess properly, before aiming for distance after Sigrún had stepped up to him, making her proposal.

Eyes widening, breath staggering, Bilbo merely looked at his husband for a moment, before he turned around and stormed out of the chamber.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

Thorin was left behind, ice pooling in his stomach. He was lost about what just had happened. Why was Bilbo so closed off all of a sudden? Why had he left without another word? Personally Thorin thought Sigrún’s offer more than generous, though he had no intention whatsoever to take her up on it. He was aware that his father as well as Sigrún’s had always flirted with the possibility of them becoming … well … well acquainted, but everybody involved knew that this wouldn’t happen now.

Producing an heir might be important for the line of Durin, but not at the cost of the prince’s marriage. So Thorin had no intention whatsoever to bed anybody but his husband. Not even if it was a sensible political choice.

 

So why had Bilbo stormed off, apparently furious? Inevitably pictures of their first morning after being together resurfaced from his mind. When Thorin had lied about his reasons for being with the hobbit, Bilbo had just shut himself down, kicking Thorin out of his smial, even if it had been only for the dwarf to go to work. What would happen now when Bilbo couldn’t just send Thorin away because they were in his home? Would he leave just to get some distance?

The mere idea of his husband leaving him settled like a heavy stone in his chest and suffocated him. Thorin had to take a calming breath to keep himself from shivering at that prospect. No, Bilbo wouldn’t leave him, he had promised, promised to serve and obey just like Thorin had. And though the thought of his hobbit serving him seemed slightly off to the dwarf, he had to admit that Bilbo had always been true to the meaning behind these words. Ever since they had entered into this relationship, even prior to their wedding, Bilbo had done everything to make him happy and get Thorin whatever he wished for, sometimes even before Thorin had known that he would enjoy things like new shirts with white roses stitched onto them, or beads made of wood.

No, Bilbo wouldn’t leave him, but to be sure he had to follow his husband. Just to get some peace of mind before attending to the princess again. When he left for their shared chambers, he briefly glanced into this father’s office, to inform the king of Sigrún’s offer. He was grateful that Thráin didn’t even grace that with a comment.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

When Thorin entered their chambers and found Bilbo at his desk, scribbling furiously into a book, he relaxed considerably. Stepping closer cautiously, he asked, “What is wrong, Bilbo?”

“Nothing! Go to your princess.” The hobbit didn’t even raise his head when demanding for Thorin to leave, just like he had, in the Shire. Suddenly Thorin remembered the reason for Bilbo’s bitter reaction that day.

Gradually a smile returned to Thorin’s face and the ice in his chest melted. He remembered this, remembered it from the Shire when Bilbo had revealed that he expected Thorin to entertain lovers in the Mountains. His beloved hobbit was jealous!

So the dwarf didn’t give a damn about being dismissed. He crouched down beside Bilbo’s chair, tenderly reaching for his husband’s hands.

Obviously not interested in any kind of physical contact, the hobbit yanked his fingers away and left for the kitchen.

The scene became more and more a repetition of what had transpired before, so Thorin had to take a deep, calming breath before following. Bilbo was surrounded by pans and knives and Thorin was not sure he wouldn’t readily throw one thing or another, if he aggravated him further.

When Bilbo reached for a bowl from a high shelf, Thorin saw his opportunity to crowd his hobbit against the counter without any kind of ‘weapon’ within reach. Hugging his lover from behind, constricting Bilbo’s arms to his body, Thorin whispered into his ear, “Are you angry that princess Sigrún made such a proposition, or are you angry at me because you think me capable of taking it?”

Aware that fighting would be futile, Bilbo grew stiff in Thorin’s hands. He merely stated in an emotionless voice, “She is a princess. She is smart enough to know the price of her food and obviously fit for fulfilling your need for an heir. She is suitable.”

Sighing in relief because Bilbo had just confirmed his suspicion, Thorin took a deep breath, enjoying his lover’s lavender scent. Bilbo must have washed after inspecting the merchandise.

Comfortingly he whispered into his hobbit’s pointy ear: “Haven’t I told you that I don’t want anybody who is ‘suitable’? That I don’t want dwarrows who offer themselves to a future king, but a kind and courageous hobbit who is willing to fight for my people? Someone who is losing it when he thinks someone is stealing his husband away?”

When Bilbo didn’t answer Thorin nudged him and whispered, “Haven’t I told you that, Bilbo?”

When his husband started to shake slightly, Thorin let go and in a heartbeat Bilbo turned around, burying himself in his wide form. Soothingly running his fingers through his husband’s curls, Thorin stated quietly, “I told her that I appreciate the offer, because it truly is generous, but that I have no interest whatsoever to take it. I don’t need her, Bilbo, WE don’t need her. Fíli and Kíli are suitable heirs for our kingdom and I would never do anything to hurt you, you know that, right?”

“She makes more sense.” Bilbo’s voice was strained as if he had to fight down tears when admitting to his thoughts. “She makes so much more sense, because she is so beautiful and female. She can give you things I never can. Your people would accept her so much more easily than me.”

Cursing the merchants inwardly, thinking about a substantial tax raise for trade within the mountain, Thorin rubbed his husband’s back. Without these poisonous words Bilbo would never be so terribly doubtful about his position by Thorin’s side.

So it was his duty to remind his hobbit why Thorin could never favour this lady-dwarf, or any other dwarf, over him.

“I doubt that she’s worked in the fields for a single day, Bilbo. I doubt that she’s used the better part of her summer to acquire the food we need to survive this winter. I doubt that she’s walked through sick soil, straining herself to find better, heartier ground for us to plant our crop. I doubt that she’s done anything but accompany this caravan and agree to your price … a price that is entirely sensible by the way. She hasn’t done even a fraction of what you have done to help our people.

“No, Bilbo, she doesn’t make more sense than you. Not in the slightest. And most importantly,” taking his husband’s wrist, lovingly placing a kiss over the bindrune of the line of Durin and the Baggins family, Thorin breathed adoringly over Bilbo’s skin, “I never swore to serve and obey her. That was … IS for you and only you, dear husband. So will you stop this foolish jealously now and accompany me to entertain our guests?”

Sighing tiredly, allowing his husband to raise his face so that Thorin could kiss him, Bilbo finally unwound.

After releasing his husband, he washed his face and brushed his hair. When he had made himself respectable again he met his dwarf in Thorin’s bedroom. “I wish there was a more prominent sign of our wedding on you than only these clasps. I really don’t fancy her looking at you the way she does. Like you are some price to be won if she only tries hard enough.”

The dwarf hesitated. That really could be the entire problem: although his husband had been willing to change his hairstyle, even wear a tattoo, Thorin had done close to nothing to show off their relationship. Bilbo’s clasps where nearly obscured by his mass of hair. Remembering a certain handkerchief, Thorin asked with a smile, “Do you still have the handkerchief you wore on your wrist at our wedding day?”

“You mean the one from my father?” Bilbo clarified. When Thorin nodded, Bilbo opened the glory-box, which stood beside the door of his chambers, and produced the deep-red piece of fabric that was embroidered with the letters BB.

Smiling at his husband, Thorin folded it several times, making sure that the stitching was visible, only to bind his hair back with it, leaving only the small braids, the ones with the clasps Bilbo had made for him, to hang free. His idea was rewarded by the most brilliant smile of his hobbit, who tenderly rectified the braids so that the clasps hung in plain sight.

After kissing his husband one last time, Bilbo took Thorin’s arm, and together they headed towards the salon where Thráin would surely still be entertaining their guests.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

It would have been truly amusing, had Nori not seen the deep insecurity and hurt in Master Baggins’s eyes. He was allowed to attend to princess Sigrún’s needs, and once Thorin and Bilbo re-joined them, the information officer could see quite plainly how very uneasy the princess’s behaviour made their hobbit. Not only did Bilbo constantly place his body between Thorin and the foreign dwarf like a living shield; he watched her and his husband’s interaction like a hawk.

Thráin didn’t give any indication that he noticed Bilbo’s possessive behaviour, and Sigrún herself seemed amused by it. That amusement went so far that she started to toy with the hobbit, pulling Thorin into a closer conversation, aiming to reach for him, when she wanted to emphasize her point.

Nori hid his smile at Thorin’s reaction, because he was truly proud of his prince. Not only was the prince on his best – most diplomatic – behaviour, gracing every personal question with noncommittal answers and avoiding subjects regarding his husband altogether. (If the princess wanted to know something about the hobbit he plainly advised her that she could very well ask him herself.) The most impressive, in Nori’s eyes, were Thorin’s actions towards Bilbo.

Usually the prince kept his distance, as it was proper in public, but today, with Bilbo serving as his shield, he tried not once to step around his hobbit. Instead he kept a safe position behind Bilbo’s left shoulder, demonstrating approval of his husband’s actions. Whenever Bilbo gave an indication that he wanted to say something – although it happened only twice all thorough the afternoon – the prince instantly interrupted his speech, looking at his husband as if everything he would say was a blessing from Mahal.

True, for Thorin it surely was, most of the time, but today he put his hobbit on display quite beautifully. To satisfy his husband’s need of physical assurance, he constantly kept touching him. No matter the current topic, no matter if he was emphasizing his words with gestures, Thorin made sure that he always had a hand on his hobbit.

He leaned back on the couch and played with Bilbo’s hair, seemingly absent-minded. He bent forward to explain a certain item he had learned to craft during the summer, he made sure that his and Bilbo’s thighs remained in permanent contact. When the princess was talking about the state of the southern kingdom, Thorin was listening attentively, placing his hand comfortably on his husband’s back.

All in all, apart from pulling back his hair to show off his braids and clasps, Thorin did everything in his power to show that Bilbo was the centre of his attention, even if the hobbit was not participating in the conversation actively. This modified behaviour seemed to bring their Master Baggins a little peace of mind, because after a while he lost his stiff posture, even leaned against the couch and into Thorin’s touch.

And while the princess surely got the unspoken message, she still kept up her game, baiting Thorin to rise to the challenge.

The prince did his very best to discourage her, yet he wasn’t able to stop her innuendos, getting Bilbo more worried and more anxious, the longer she talked. What brought a change of the tide was the princess of the Durin family.

Nori knew that Dís had supervised the exchange of goods, and when she entered she stepped behind Nori to watch the exchange between her family and the princess. After mere moments, she growled quietly, “You should have called for me sooner.”

Aware that Dís was right, the information officer merely ducked his head and asked in a whisper, “Do you think you can end this? I’m worried about Bil… our Master Baggins.”

Plastering the best diplomatic smile on her face, Dís stated, “Just watch me.”

And watching their princess was truly amazing. Dís had enjoyed her brief encounters with princess Sigrún; she had visited once before and been the only other lady-dwarf of royal blood, so the two of them had found they had a lot in common. Now she reached for her hands, squeezing them gently, saying with a friendly smile, “It’s truly amazing what you have brought. And I am so happy that you came to supervise the trade.”

Retreating towards the couch, placing herself close to Bilbo, taking one of his hands into hers as if it was the most natural thing to do, the princess continued, “I think without your voice of reason, your people would have left with their goods on their carriages, because my new brother would not have allowed our people to be hoodwinked. He has spent a lot of time and effort acquiring goods at a fair price all over the Shire. I can’t imagine anybody in our kingdom knowing our food better than him.”

Dís’s brilliant blue eyes, which matched her brother’s so perfectly, bore into the visiting princess, emphasizing her message; and finally, finally Sigrún had to admit defeat. Obviously, seeing both remaining children of Thráin sitting by the side of this small hobbit, convinced her that she couldn’t win. So with a respectful bow she announced that she was expected to supervise the payment and left the parlour.

 

Thráin only tsked at his daughter before asked bemusedly, “Was that really necessary, Dís? You know we need her father’s sympathy. Visibly favouring your brother’s husband over her might not be the wisest course of action.”

Squeezing the hobbit’s hand, because when Nori had finally closed the door after the royal guest, Bilbo had sunk against the couch, shivering from nerves, Dís emphasized, “She had it coming and you saw it. What she did was cruel and Bilbo doesn’t deserve to be treated that way. He went out of his way this summer to get what we need. I doubt that she lifted a finger for these wares.

“So an unspoken agreement that Thorin and Sigrún would theoretically be a good match doesn’t give her the right to yank his chain. Not when Bilbo’s marriage to Thorin is perfectly legal. That’s disrespectful and such behaviour doesn’t become a princess.”

“You would know.” Though Thorin’s words were harsh, they were spoken in a friendly rumble. He was too grateful for his sister’s help to end this encounter. Had it gone on any longer, he might have done a very rude thing himself, namely left with his husband, because he had seen Bilbo getting more tense with every passing moment.

Now when he had calmed down, Bilbo rose from the couch and paced the room aggravatedly. “So that was your intended bride? You are lucky you got me! She hasn’t a single callus on her fingers. I doubt that she has held any tool in her entire life!”

Smiling goodnaturedly, because he secretly enjoyed Bilbo’s open display of jealousy, Thorin merely nodded and clarified, “I agree.” And even though Thorin didn’t specify with WHAT he agreed, all dwarrows present could make an educated guess.

Not willing to put his son-in-law through such a taxing situation again, Thráin asked, “So I assume you want to take dinner in your rooms, instead of joining us and our royal guest?”

After a brief hesitation, Bilbo shook his head, “I don’t want to eat alone and Thorin has to attend this dinner. It’s a polite thing to do.”

Now it was Thorin’s turn to rise and reach for his husband’s hand, kissing his knuckles briefly. “Bilbo, I won’t eat with her if that makes you uncomfortable. It’s my duty to see to your happiness and all through this afternoon you didn’t appear very happy.”

The offer was tempting, it truly was, to leave all these duties behind and hide with his husband in their rooms again. They could even say that they would return to their seclusion, even if such a thing was unheard of in Hobbiton. These were dwarrows, they didn’t know about such things. Yet Bilbo realized that he could never do that. He had agreed to marry a dwarven prince and with such an elevated position came certain responsibilities. Bilbo could never put himself between his husband and his royal duties.

So he stated resignedly, “No, Thorin, you will attend this meal, it’s only proper. But I will be there with you, and if she tries to touch you one more time I will put Dís’s dagger to good use!”

The sheer dwarvishness of the sentiment made Dis smile. She stepped to her brother-in-law, touched their foreheads and encouraged him, “Do just that and you will have defended your position as my brother’s husband for everybody to see. It would cause a lot of trouble but I will have your back, don’t worry, Bilbo.”

Hugging Dís fiercely, because she had shown herself supportive beyond measure, Bilbo merely nodded and whispered, “Thank you, I really appreciate that. But let’s hope that this won’t be necessary and that she will keep her claws to herself.”

Glad that he situation had resolved, Nori turned towards the door, ready to spread a rumour or three about the hobbit being willing to defend his right as husband with weapons. The dwarrows of Erebor were all romantic at heart and would love such a story.

The information officer thought that it was really a shame that Bilbo’s words would most likely remain an empty threat. On the other hand, the hobbit had not yet learned how to wield a weapon efficiently. That had to change very soon. They couldn’t leave their favourite hobbit defenceless. Not when he could make such good use of his weapon.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 


	28. Carrier ... Ravens?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to disappoint all of you who wanted to see Bilbo stabbing Sigrún through the hand. Won't happen. Hope you will enjoy this instead.

For the entire week the royal family entertained their equally royal guest. To Bilbo’s knowledge – and Nori’s information usually was very accurate in these regards – the dwarrows from the southern mountains had never stayed that long. Obviously the princess wouldn’t give up her claim on Thorin that easily. But after six days, she finally admitted defeat.

That allowed Bilbo to spend more time with his own family. Cousins who were farmers walked with him over the new fields, explaining to him what he had to pay attention to come spring, telling him in elaborate details, which weeds he should expect and what to keep and what to pull out. Apparently not all weed was bad for the soil.

He shared meals with his grandparents and his husband and Fíli and Kíli on occasion, proving to them that he was content with his relocation to the Blue Mountains and that he could, given time, maybe even be happy here. Especially the young dwarrows went out of their way to make sure that Bilbo had everything he needed. Not only had they renovated his kitchen, a work that had earned them the respect of Bilbo’s grandmother, but they also saw to his every need when it came to food, tools or support as far as they were able to provide it. That Thorin was willing to do everything to make Bilbo happy went without saying: the way he looked at his husband proved his love like nothing else ever could.

Other days Bilbo spent in the stables, getting to know each and every pony and discussing the possibility to store away the natural fertilizers for the next spring. Luckily there were wide, unused areas around the mountains, mostly covered by wide stone basins ready to store the valuable dung.

The hobbit enjoyed his days in the inner valleys the most. These surroundings reminded him the most of the Shire. They were exploring the small side-valleys with the children when suddenly the little Violet – who had been removed from the kitchen, as staying indoors for an extended amount of time simply wasn’t healthy – unexpectedly yelped of joy. When the group followed, Fíli and Kíli who had been appointed babysitters to the bunch carrying the smallest fauntlings, they discovered a beautiful little valley, hidden behind a small crack in the mountain walls.

It was easy for the fauntlings to crawl through the gap, slightly more difficult for the hobbit, but when Fíli and Kíli finally caught up with them their clothes were slightly torn and there were scratches on their hands and cheeks. Yet what they found took their breath away: the little valley was slightly elevated and the walls seemed to be laced with the same sparkling crystals that shone in the cave Thorin had shown Bilbo some ten days ago. The strange wall reflected the sunlight and illuminated the hidden valley most beautifully.

There was a small stream, rippling through the ground and soft hills were covered by healthy green grass, with flowers sprouting from the ground wherever they looked. Instantly the children made it their mission to gather all of them – the first frost had set already and would make them wither anyway within days – and carried them to Bilbo to weave flower crowns for them.

The young dwarven princes made it their mission to explore the whole area with the tiniest fauntlings on their arms, and even found a small nook in the stone, which could serve as shelter through a light rain. It would be too much to call it a cave for it was only ten feet wide and barely twice as deep. But for a little while it might prove to be an excellent shelter if the visitors of this valley were surprised by rain. They would need nearly a quarter of an hour to reach the gate to the dwarven city, so that could come in handy.

While weaving the flower-chains, Bilbo found himself looking around excitedly, making plans to maybe plow a part of the valley to plant some vegetables. Maybe even a tiny orchard with an apple- and a pear-tree. Along the wall of the mountain were several bushes and from the looks of their leaves and the soil underneath, Bilbo suspected them to be raspberry.

Bilbo could hear birds croaking excitedly overhead, and looking up he saw several ravens circling. Maybe they had disturbed their habitat. The hobbit couldn’t help but smile when he spotted several fauntlings bringing forth their provisions that were meant to make up for elevenses, and offering them to the birds. Of course the animals didn’t fly down to pick them from their hands, they were shy after all. So Bilbo made the children gather them on a patch of leather they placed on a little hilltop not far from them. It took the birds about ten minutes of careful observation to decide that the food offered was worth the risk that the two-legged creatures presented, and then they descended, while the fauntlings kept their distance.

Once the treats were finished, the ravens came closer, all shyness forgotten, to see if the hobbits might drop anything else. But before the first child could come close enough to pet one, they flew off again.

The tales of the exciting spectacle were interrupted when Bilbo’s nephew Ferumbras came staggering over the meadow, shouting loudly for his uncle. Instantly worried about the little boy, Bilbo abandoned the flower-chain, lifting up the little boy who was chattering excitedly. “They are talking … they really are. The dwarrows that came with us. They are at the end of the valley, and they are talking. Do you hear me, uncle Bilbo? TALKING!” Pulling at Bilbo’s coat repeatedly, Ferumbras pointed into the direction he had coming from, obviously urging his uncle to carry him there.

“Of course they are, they are quite good with Westron, you know that, Ferum.” Bilbo tried to calm the agitated boy, who seemed ready to jump from his arms, pulling him along, obviously the grown up was not fast enough for his liking. “They were in the Shire all summer. You have talked to them before.”

“Not the dwarrows, the ravens!” was Ferumbras’s shaken answer, before he finally managed to drag his uncle along.

Following the boy, merely to entertain him, Bilbo tried to dampen the fauntling’s enthusiasm. “Ferum, you know that animals can’t talk, they only do it in your stories. Only elves are able to communicate with them, they …” But out of the blue he remembered Thorin telling him that he would find a raven to carry his letter to the king, in the middle of the summer. That thought in mind, Bilbo swiped up his nephew and followed the direction the little boy was urging him.

Amazed, he saw Fíli and Kíli looking up at a raven who was sitting at the top of the little cave. The big animal – by Yavanna, that bird had to be at least eighty centimetres long – was eying them curiously, his head angling this way and that way. Not daring to come closer, Bilbo couldn’t really make out what the princes were saying. The hobbit twitched a little nervously – because honestly it was rude to stare – when the bird looked at him unexpectedly.

Turning around, Fíli and Kíli gestured for him to come closer. Repositioning his nephew in his arms, praying that these birds wouldn’t decide to attack them for barging into their living space, Bilbo approached the entrance, bowing respectfully before the bird. “Have a nice day, Master Raven.”

Bilbo’s face suddenly flamed up red, right to the tip of his ears. How stupid was that to talk to a raven? Surely he …

“And to you, Hobbit of the Shire.”

The hobbit stopped dead in his tracks, looking up at the raven thunderstruck. The croaking noise could be laughter, and the smile on Fíli’s and Kíli’s faces indicated such. Proudly Kíli stated, “Didn’t we tell you? There are no more polite people on Middle-earth than hobbits.”

Turning his head to the other side, the raven concentrated on Bilbo, not gracing Kíli’s statement with a comment. So Fíli tried to argue on Bilbo’s behalf. “He wouldn’t disturb you in any way. It’s just … he’s so far away from home and this place is the closest thing to the Shire we have ever seen around here. Couldn’t you allow him in your habitat? We … we wouldn’t even come along if you don’t like dwarrows around here,” Fíli offered reluctantly.

Once again Bilbo could hear the croaking sound, and surprisingly the big bird descended from his elevated place, landing in the meadow just in front of Bilbo’s feet. Instinctively, Bilbo kneeled into the grass and had to act swiftly to keep his nephew from reaching for the bird. The raven however really didn’t seem to care that he was surrounded by fauntlings as soon as he had landed. His concentration lay solely on Bilbo when he demanded imperiously, “What would you do with our home?”

“Nothing, I …” Bilbo bristled at the accusation of changing anybody’s living space.

Yet the bird only watched him closely, stating, “You talked about apple-trees!”

Admitting defeat, Bilbo nodded. “Yes, I was thinking of making this valley into my own little garden. I thought about ploughing a part of the earth to be able to plant vegetables, even some herbs and beside the entrance of the cave an apple-tee and a pear-tree on the other side would be lovely. But I didn’t know then that this valley was inhabited. So of course I won’t do anything.”

Of course he wouldn’t do anything. He had just left behind his home. The first decision he would make for himself wouldn’t be changing the living space of others. That would be rude and entirely unnecessary. There were vegetable and even herbal patches that the dwarrows tended. So he really didn’t need any for himself. He had just thought that it would be nice to have his own little place to care for.

The raveness’s voice stirred him from his thoughts, when he croaked, “Plant carrots! There are rabbits, but they never come here. There is no food. And next time bring more of the little-hard-things.”

With these words he lifted into the air, and after a long, seemingly longing gaze towards the leather patch that still lay in the middle of the meadow, the whole flock returned to their nests in the mountain walls.

 

Dumbfounded, Bilbo looked up at Fíli and Kíli. His nephew had abandoned his place on his uncle’s lap in favour of playing with the other fauntlings now that the bird was gone, leaving the older hobbit to his own thoughts. “What … what happened just now?” Bilbo asked, looking up at Fíli and Kíli who shared triumphant grins.

“The raven matriarch of this colony has given you permission to make this valley your garden,” Fíli stated.

And Kíli added instantly, “She even allowed us to make the entrance a little wider. At least she didn’t say anything against it. She only stated that she doesn’t want a bunch of rascal dwarrows trampling her grass. But you don’t trample grass, you are a hobbit, and if we are careful we might even be allowed return as well.”

Smiling proudly at their hobbit – because in their mind they had done a tremendously good job negotiating on his behalf – they pulled up Bilbo and together they walked back to the little hill where he had woven the flower crowns before.

Picking up his work again, Bilbo looked thoughtfully at the leather that had contained the treats for the birds. When the last words of the raveness caught up to him, he called together the children, asking what they had offered. It didn’t take him long to find out what the bird had talked about when she had mentioned the ‘little-hard-things’.

As a treat from Bombur, Violet carried a satchel full of roasted almonds. Promising the girl a whole of batch cookies from her friend, Bilbo was able to coax the nuts from her. In the end, for hobbit fauntlings quantity was always more important than quality, and Violet really didn’t seem to care what she got, as long as Bombur made it.

When they left, he spread the remnants of the treat on the leather patch, thanking the ravens for their hospitality.

 

# NaNoWriMo

 

After meeting the other hobbits in the hall for a late lunch, Bilbo, Fíli and Kíli took their time to listen to the children sharing their adventure in the hidden valley. In their eyes the dwarrows were magical beings all of a sudden, because they could talk to ravens, and the story got longer and more fantastic with every retelling.

In mid-afternoon, when the boys reluctantly admitted that they had to return to their studies, lessons they had merely shifted in favour of accompanying the fauntlings, Bilbo returned to his chambers.

There was still time to go over his schedule for tomorrow as well as prepare scones for teatime. Bilbo sighed slightly when going over the notes Dís had offered telling the hobbit about her duties. There was a history lesson planned for tomorrow and afterwards there was weapons training. The images of the last and only fight Bilbo had ever gotten into when with his dwarrows resurfaced inevitably in the hobbit’s mind, and once again he felt embarrassed about his spectacular loss of composure that day.

True, he had saved Kíli from a rabid wolf. But once the beast had been slain, Bilbo had gotten hysterical and had butchered the cadaver. Balin had explained to him that the position of a royal consort was not without danger. Dís and Nori had gifted him with a weapon and matching accessories, but Bilbo still felt uneasy when thinking about fighting, no matter if it was mere training or the prospect of doing it in earnest. Especially when he thought about any situation where his fighting skills would be truly needed. He was a hobbit, by everything that was sacred, hobbits didn’t fight!

Pushing these unpleasant thoughts aside, he entered his kitchen. Baking always helped to calm him. Looking out of his wide windows, he thought longingly of his kitchen in the Shire. His new kitchen was good, it really was, because Fíli and Kíli had put a lot of time and effort into it. But at home he could have watched over the front garden and the soft hills of Hobbiton. Birds had sung there and it had smelled like the herbs he had planted in a small bed in front of his window.

Well, this was more than he could have hoped for. He had a kitchen for himself, and a window that flooded his rooms with sunlight. He had even acquired silver mirrors that spread the sunlight all through his living room. He shouldn’t be ungrateful for everything his new family had done to make him feel welcome. Deciding that the boys, as well as Dís, and by extension Dwalin did deserve a treat for their efforts, he doubled the amount of ingredients for the scones so that the other members of his family would get some as well.

 

Sitting at the kitchen table, sharing a cup of tea and a few scones with fresh butter and jam with his husband, Bilbo asked, “Is it true that all ravens are able to speak Westron?”

Looking up from a particularly taxing document, Thorin nodded. “Of course, how should we communicate with them otherwise?”

“But nobody knows this. How is it that this is not public knowledge, when Westron is the only language in Middle-earth that nearly every race understands?”

Looking up with a grin, Thorin declared, “Ravens truly are boastful bastards. They deem themselves royalty among birds, so they deign to speak only to those of royal blood. Everybody else is beneath them.” Wondering why they were talking about these black birds, the prince asked, “The majority of your family is still here, but if you want to send a letter to the Shire, I could go and fetch a bird for you.”

“Fetch a bird … is that really how it works?” If ravens really were so arrogant, Bilbo highly doubted that Thorin would get them to deliver a message if he treated them any other way than with uttermost reverence.

Scratching his head a little sheepishly, Thorin admitted, “Well, no … not exactly. Usually I bribe them with entrails of some animal I gather from the kitchen, and after a little while, when the offering has been inspected and consumed, one of them graces me with his presence and I can tell him what I need.”

Forcing himself not to retch, Bilbo repeated weakly, “Entrails from … wait a moment. I don’ leave ‘entrails’ of ANYTHING lying around in my kitchen. How did you bribe the bird in the Shire?”

Shrugging casually, the dwarf revealed, “With one of your cookies. The ravens of the Shire seem to have a sweet tooth … beak … whatever. But pray, dear husband, why are you asking me all this?”

Now it was Bilbo’s turn to look at his hands, avoiding his husband’s eyes. When Thorin nudged his chin a little, so that the hobbit would look up again, Bilbo confessed, “We were in a small valley today, a beautiful one, with a lot of soft hills and a little cave and raspberry bushes.”

“The raven valley. We don’t go there since we benefit from a flock of ravens living so close to our town.”

Thorin seemed to be aware of the described place, but he kept his eyes on his husband, wordlessly urging Bilbo to finish the story. “Well the fauntlings and I were not aware that the valley was occupied, and it looked so light and airy with the glittering walls and the fruitful soil. We were weaving flower crowns and I kind of toyed with the idea of having a little garden there. It’s big enough for that and there even is a tiny stream.”

 

Thorin’s heart fell when he heard his hobbit talk about the valley. He was aware that it was beautiful, for he had gone there several times. There was no other way to get hold of a raven in these mountains. During their day out Thorin had purposefully avoided showing it to Bilbo. He knew that it mirrored the surroundings of the Shire better than any other place in the Blue Mountains. Yet he had wanted to keep it a secret because he couldn’t offer it to the hobbit.

The ravens there had always made it very clear that while they tolerated the dwarrows in the mountains, were even willing to work for them for a commission, they didn’t fancy them trampling through their habitat. So the entrance had remained small and avoided by anybody else but members of the royal family. Ravens were important to their communication, they simply couldn’t afford angering them or they would be cut off from the rest of Middle-earth.

Well, not really cut off, since they could still use the riders and merchants who travelled the world, but that was expensive and very time-consuming, something the dwarrows didn’t have the patience for.

Worriedly Thorin guessed, “And the ravens attacked you as soon as you had entered?”

“Actually no, after a little while we saw them flying overhead and the children and I decided that we should share our elevenses with them. Though the valley seemed rich, there was not much food left. The next thing we saw, Fíli and Kíli were talking to them.”

“The ravens were talking to my nephews?” Thorin couldn’t be more surprised, because to his knowledge, the entire flock still refused to even glance in the young dwarrows’ direction. That might be related to the fact that the boys had tried to capture a bird during their first month in these mountains. They had even managed to catch a little one, and the matriarch of the raven clan hadn’t taken that all that well.

“What did they say? Did they hurt Fíli or Kíli?”

Surprised by the question, Bilbo shook his head empathically. “No, of course not, why would they hurt them? They were entirely respectful and requested a particularly tall raven to allow me to be there on a regular basis.”

“Oh, Bilbo, I’m …” Sighing deeply, Thorin became aware that his hobbit must have experienced a huge disappointment this afternoon. He rose from his seat and sat beside his husband, hugging him tenderly. To see something and know that it was eternally out of reach was horrible, Thorin knew, since he felt exactly that way about his home. And now Bilbo had seen a little part of the Shire in these mountains, and he wouldn’t be able to return there. No words and no gifts would ever make up for this. Caressing his lover comfortingly, Thorin whispered, “What did she say? Did she insult you?”

Confused at his dwarf’s tender streak, Bilbo snuggled into Thorin’s arms. Honestly he wouldn’t question it if his husband wanted to cuddle. A moment later the hobbit stated, “She told me to plant carrots. And to bring more almonds, though she didn’t know the name for them.”

“She … what?” Puzzled because that was definitely not the answer Thorin had expected, he pulled back and had to stabilize Bilbo with one hand for his hobbit seemed to follow his body on instinct. Then he asked again, “She said what?”

Smiling at his husband’s perplexed expression, Bilbo smoothed Thorin’s forehead with his fingers while repeating himself. “She said that she wants me to plant carrots. Apparently there are wild rabbits in the mountain and she hopes to lure them into her … well, our garden I guess, by planting something they like. She approved of my plan of planting an apple-tree and a pear-tree and I think I can bribe my way into her good graces by bringing more almonds.”

“But she … she has never allowed anybody into her habitat! Why you?” Thorin was aware that his question might come off as slightly rude, but an unexpectedly agreeable raven matriarch was not something he had expected. The raven that led her flock was arrogant and sometimes downright rude. It was a miracle that she had even talked to his nephews, but permitting a hobbit to share her habitat… that was like a miracle.

Raising his chin defiantly, Bilbo stated, “Well, she has no problems with a hobbit who treats her valley with respect and does NOT trample her soil, but promises to expand her natural resources instead. I honestly think the trees were what did it. She seemed quite taken with the idea.”

Hugging his husband again, tremendously happy for him, Thorin sighed, “I’m so glad. The only problem is the small entrance, but we can load everything you need for farming into a box and pull it through. You brought your own tools already; all we have to do is get them there. Maybe we can close off a part of the cave with a little wooden wall, so that everything inside remains dry and safe. Honestly I am not sure if that bird wouldn’t steal from you if she thinks that a shovel would be a wonderful expansion of her nest.”

“Thorin Oakenshield, are you calling the matriarch of the raven clan a thief?” Bilbo bristled, offended on the bird’s behalf.

Grinning broadly, Thorin told his lover, “Of course I do. She nicks something from me every time I go there. I have started to wear gloves and mufflers on purpose so that she only takes things I don’t need anyway. The first time around she took a clasp from my head, the last one my mother had made for me. I ask her about it every time I return there, but for now she simply tells me to return another day, promising that might give it to me then. That way I know that I am still invited to return.”

Untangling his lover’s locks, Bilbo stated, “You like her, don’t you?”

Leaning into his hobbit’s embrace a little, Thorin only nodded. When he felt the inquisitive eyes of Bilbo on him, he explained, “She reminds me of the ravens of Erebor. Their flock had lived with my family for countless generations. They were arrogant and rightfully so because more often than not they carried important documents that would decide whether there would be a treaty between Erebor and the settlements around us.

“Roac, a very young raven, was very much like the she-raven from these mountains right after hatching. He bit me twice when I was not able to pronounce his name correctly. Yet whenever I needed his services, he was always ready to go to any lengths to help. The flock form these mountains are neither as arrogant nor as proud. They expect politeness when being dealt with, but they hadn’t interacted with dwarrows for quite a long time before we arrived here. One of the ravens told me once that they were glad that the former inhabitants of the mountains left, for they were rude and would expect them to work for mere morsels. Apparently we are more polite and easier to deal with, even with Fíli and Kíli catching one of their younglings.”

Trailing his fingers though his lover’s copper locks, Thorin whispered, “I am glad that they like you. This way you can send a letter to the Shire whenever you want. And you will have your own little garden next spring.”

Admitting that this truly was a win-win situation for everybody, Bilbo decided to overcome his aversion against ‘entrails’ and bring a whole bowl of them for his next visit to the hidden valley. And he would return there soon, since these raven had something he was determined to get back, no matter what he had to offer in return.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 


	29. Exchanging Gifts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Only yesterday (well at this time acutally the day before yesterday) I was writing a quite joyous chapter about the first Yule-celebration Bilbo attends to in the Blue Mountains and there will be at least another chapter to follow it. But with our story we have not reached this point yet so I will give you a chapter when there is only one present. This however, is entirely worth it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know you have the best betareader in the world when she sends you a chapter to give to you on the first day of Christmas. I wish to all of you, your family and friends a very, happy Christmas and - should we not hear each other before then - a happy new year.  
> I really can't fathom that I am writing this story for more than eight months now. I am sure Redone herself hadn't thought that she was signing up for such an epic novel (honestly, most books I have read in the past were shorter). Yet she stayed firmly by my side. She won't let me go through with a single phrase that doesn't suit my story and - with everlasting patience - finds varieties for my 'word of the day'. I have learned so much with her by my side and can't thank her enough for supporting me for the better part of this year.  
> And last but surely not least, I want to thank all of you. Writing a story, working on it to make it better is one of the best things in life I have experienced during this last year (well at least when it comes to a hobby ;)). Yet your support and comments really make me soar, for nothing is as good when you can't share it with others. Thank you for being my community, supporting me this year and reading and commenting on my story. Love you all.  
> *Hugs and kisses*  
> Anchanee

The next day started with the anticipated history lesson. Bilbo had used his late afternoon and evening to study the book Master Kiron had given him as a wedding present and the dwarf was pleased to find the hobbit already having an overview of their most important traditions. It was easier to explain decisions made by former kings when the hobbit already knew a little about them.

After three hours of lively lessons, during which Bilbo took a lot of notes, there was lunch and then there was weapons training.

The fields were ready for winter, so Dwalin had placed his charge with the glaziers of the Blue Mountains, aware that he was responsible for Bilbo’s self-defence lessons. Gentian Longleaf owned a pottery in the Shire, so Dwalin hoped that he would do some good when being allowed to work in a similar trade. For now he hadn’t heard any complaints from the dwarrows who worked with him. They merely called him very quick on the uptake, yet behind on the technique. But all in all they were satisfied with his help.

The first hour of training was spent by Dwalin explaining the properties of different weapons to Bilbo. As before, the hobbit took notes.

Still, Bilbo’s head was buzzing twenty minutes into the lesson and his book was filled to the brim. So, he excused himself and ran to fetch a new notebook. After that, Dwalin’s speed of the explanations slowed down considerably, giving Bilbo time to take careful notes and even make some sketches on all the long-range, short-range, middle-range (why on Middle-earth did you need so many range-classifications for weapons???) weapons and could repeat their advantages and disadvantages without strain when asked about them.

They talked about defensive weapons after that and many more pages were filled before Dwalin finally called it a day and decided to get to the actual fighting. That, however, did not go as planned. After a mere hour, Bilbo was shouting at Dwalin in frustration, throwing his little training sword to the ground, deciding that fighting simply wasn’t for him. A very Tookish thing to do, Bilbo had to admit to himself, but he was too frustrated to care. The weapon was too big and too heavy, and he seemed not made to wield them, being too small and too weak.

 

Thorin, who had interrupted his duties in favour of supporting his husband through his first weapons training, instantly stepped into the training area, seeking to ease Bilbo’s frustration. He was aware that they were expecting a whole lot from a hobbit who had lived a comfortable life in the Shire, without any need to defend himself. Well, close to no need. But with Bilbo being a member of the royal family now, there was always danger and Thorin simply couldn’t allow his hobbit to remain oblivious to this, or worst of all, defenceless.

Nori who had sneaked in unnoticed seemed to share his concern, for soon after the outburst the secretive dwarf with the auburn hair emerged from his place in the shadows, joining Thorin when the prince approached the training area. Having a spy at his back was never a good idea, and the whispered, “Please remain calm,” was the only warning the prince got, before he felt an arm on his neck and a dagger on his throat.

Throwing the gauntlet, Nori called out, “What would you do now, Master Baggins? If you are really as useless with weapons as you want to make us believe, and your husband would be attacked in such a way, is his imminent death really the only outcome?”

Bilbo, who had already gathered his coat, willing the session to end, froze in his tracks. He looked at Dwalin to reassure himself that Nori would never hurt Thorin, but the warrior seemed worried as well. Obviously the guard wasn’t entirely sure how far Nori would go to prove his point. Thorin seemed to share that uncertainty, because once he saw the fear in Bilbo’s eyes, he started to struggle against Nori’s hold.

Yet, Nori held him in a vice-like grip. He even embedded the tip of his blade into his prince’s skin, drawing a single drop of blood. The dwarf demanded in a harsh yet quiet tone, “Hold still, Your Highness. I don’t want to injure you, but your husband’s attitude won’t do. I will hurt you if I have to, to make him understand.”

The single drop of blood, however, was what made Bilbo snap. He hated violence. Nothing good ever came of it. Yet seeing one of his friends drawing blood from his husband was not something he could tolerate. Digging into his coat pockets, reaching for the walnuts he had gathered from Bombur after lunch to give to the ravens, he pulled out three nuts, hiding them in his hand, letting the coat slide to the ground slowly.

Aiming for a better position, he approached Nori, trying to pacify the other. He still wore the dagger Dís had given him, in the sheath Nori had provided himself. If the dwarf wanted to play rough, so be it. “Nori, please, I know that this is important but you have to stop making an example out of Thorin. You can’t …”

“I’m sorry, Master Bilbo, but that obviously is the only way you can learn. Look at him. Do you think that he …”

And at that point Nori’s sentence ended. The mere glimpse he had given the prince in his arms had been enough for the hobbit to spring into action.

In quick succession he threw all three nuts, hitting Nori at the forehead point blank every time.

The dwarf of course stumbled, releasing his prince in the process and even before Thorin could understand what was going on, Bilbo flew by, hitting the slightly disoriented dwarf straight on the nose, sending him to the ground. Kneeling onto Nori’s chest, Bilbo now had his dagger at the other dwarf’s throat, hissing angrily, “You will never, EVER hurt my husband again. Are we clear, Master Nori?”

Raising his hands in defeat, Nori smiled up at the hobbit proudly. His attack had not only come unexpected, it had been highly efficient too. There were very few dwarrows who could bring him two his knees, yet this fierce little hobbit had managed to do so, simply by choosing an approach Nori hadn’t expected. “Absolutely, Master Baggins. I won’t touch your husband again, but if you are amenable, I will take care of your training tomorrow. Obviously we have chosen the wrong approach.”

When they all were on their feet again, Bilbo started fussing over Thorin and the nick on his chin. Nori picked up the nuts and returned them.

Curiously, the information officer asked, “There are small stones aplenty in these halls. Why did you use the nuts?”

Sighing slightly when the last smear of blood was gone, Bilbo turned around, drawing strength from Thorin who was hugging him from behind. Looking at Nori’s forehead, knowing that it would soon show at least one blue spot, the hobbit explained, “Because I didn’t want to injure you. You were stating your point and, as little as I liked your approach, so did I. I could have severely hurt you, had I used stones.”

Shaking his head – their hobbit truly was too soft – Dwalin explained, “That’s why we are usually training with sharp weapons, Bilbo. If there is no real danger, how can you make sure that you are putting everything into defending yourself?”

Gesturing towards the wooden sword he had used, Bilbo asked, “Then why did we use wooden weapons?”

Sharing an uneasy look with the other two dwarrows, Dwalin finally admitted contrite, “They are for the dwarflings during their first year.”

“You had me train with a child’s weapons???” The hobbit asked, looking at his husband quite cross.

Calmingly rubbing Bilbo’s arms, Thorin explained, “Only because Dwalin knows that I will have his head if he injures you. I know that I said that I want you to be able to defend yourself, but I can’t bear the thought of you getting hurt. So until you master your weapon you really should use the wooden ones.”

“Thorin, I …” Sighing slightly, turning around in his lover’s arms, Bilbo looked up to the worrying dwarf, gently brushing through his strands. “Do you really think this to be the right approach? Nori was using a real blade too and look what he made me do. I don’t like this, I really don’t. But if I have to do this arms training, I would rather have it taken seriously than a mere game.”

When he looked at Nori, the auburn-haired dwarf nodded and decided, “The time for games is over. Tomorrow we will start anew. There are a lot of weapons to cover and for now we will begin with the blade you already carry. Best to familiarize you with your personal weapon right from the start.”

“I don’t like it,” Thorin stated one last time.

“Neither do I, lover, but you know that Master Nori is right. You yourself asked me to carry this blade on me, at all times. Don’t you think it’s wisest to have me handle it to the best of my abilities?”

Reluctantly Thorin nodded and left them to their own devices. He had a meeting with his father coming up and he knew that he would only feel more uneasy when he heard of the hard training schedule of his hobbit.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

After agreeing on personal training hours with the king’s information officer – Dwalin would continue the theoretical training – Bilbo picked up his cloak again and left the mountain. After all the time in the library and the unfortunate incident on the training grounds, the hobbit had the desire to be out in the open again. Being constantly confined in stone didn’t sit well with him.

Finally able to draw a deep breath again, Bilbo walked through the inner valley, enjoying the sunshine, despite the cold. It would start raining soon, but form the looks of it, the hobbit still had time to reach the raven valley. He glimpsed into the separate parts of the valley where the vegetable and herb patches lay. The water here was good so they would be able to expand their little fields. Bilbo had brought a lot of seed from Hobbiton and would love to see it used. Dwarrows might not favour vegetables over meat, but it would surely do them good.

It took him barely more than the quarter of an hour – it already had started to drizzle – when he crept through the passage that hid the raven valley from the rest of the dales. He picked up the leather patch that lay forgotten on the hill where the fauntlings had fed the ravens and approached the small cave at the far end.

He picked up several fallen and dead branches from the bushes and decided to make a small fire for himself, so that he would not freeze too much due to his clammy clothes. Maybe he could even roast a few of the nuts he had brought along.

Spreading out the leather not far from his position, he wanted the ravens to get to know him after all, he presented the better part of his nuts, watching from corner of the eye, when several ravens landed not too far from the entrance, eyeing him intently. After several minutes, the beginning downpour encouraged the birds to enter the cave and once they were in they inevitably went for the treats Bilbo was offering.

The hobbit tried to appear as unconcerned as possible; first of all it was rude to stare, and secondly, these beasts were not familiar with him. Maybe they would approach him more easily if he didn’t pay them any attention.

Picking up several nuts, croaking quietly, spreading their wings, fluttering around, the birds seemed to be in an animated conversation, some even packed at one another in defence of a nut they perceived as theirs. Bilbo had to bite back a smile, opening the bigger walnuts. Aware that he had not really thought through his plan to roast the nuts – he had forgotten his pan – he merely poked his little fire with a stick, nibbling on one of the nuts.

“You share.”

Bilbo was not sure if it was a question or a demand, but when the tall raveness approached him, the hobbit offered his hand, with half a walnut for her to take it. Preparing himself for a harsh peck against his skin, Bilbo was surprised to find her picking up the treat rather carefully. She didn’t even touch his skin. But as soon as she had consumed it, she pecked his sleeve, obviously waiting for more.

As it was suitable for a host, Bilbo opened another nut and presented it. “I see your flock finds great joy in the treats I bring, Milady. Do you think that they will mind my coming here next spring, ploughing a part of the earth?”

“Vár,” came a croak, before the bird took another nut, picking at him empathically because Bilbo was not fast enough in opening them, aiming for a closed one instead.

“Pardon me?”

“Bilbo … Vár” was the only reply, before the bird clawed at the nut and hit it viciously with her beacon.

Bilbo wasn’t sure, but he could have sworn that the raven was gloating as soon as the nut fell open, joyfully picking the treats from the inside. Smiling, he said, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Vár.”

Ignoring the hobbit until she had eaten the last of her nut, the raveness hopped closer, eying the content of his pouch, which sat on his lap, pulling his sleeve again. Subconsciously Bilbo pulled at his sleeves, hiding his wrists, but that only brought the shiny metal band he tried to hide to the raven’s attention. Yet she didn’t comment on it, she merely looked at him and then pulled at the satchel to get another treat.

Feeding her several more nuts, Bilbo asked, “Vár, I wanted to ask you something.”

When the raven didn’t comment, Bilbo called himself stupid, trying to make small-talk to a bird.

Deciding to cut to the matter at hand, he said, “You took something from my husband when he first arrived here. A hair-clasp to be precise and I would like to ask if I could get it back.”

Obviously the raven had still been listening, while she had looked at the food, but after that request she eyed Bilbo mindfully, turning her head this way and that.

After a few minutes she stated, “The one with the raven hair, the one who called me ‘pledged’ is your husband.”

Assuming that she could only speak about Thorin, for he was the dwarf whose hair was closest to ‘raven’ from all the dwarrows he had seen, Bilbo merely nodded. Yet before he could ask for the clasp again, Vár continued, “It was only a small treat. He had bigger shinies. Why do you want?”

Cautiously, since the raven had not outright dismissed his request, Bilbo explained, “This little clasp is of great personal value to him. His mother had made it for him and she is dead now, so it’s one of the few things he has left of her.”

“Important like feather in his nest.”

Unsure what that was supposed to mean, Bilbo simply nodded, not offering any reply.

The raveness hopped closer, perching on his knee, yet careful not to dig her claws too deeply into his skin. Luckily Bilbo was wearing sturdy trousers today. She picked at his clasps, obviously admiring the gold, when Bilbo pulled back his head. “I can’t give you one of mine in return: they too belonged to his mother too.”

He was sure now that the raven was grinning at him, when the bird stated, “Don’t want clasps. Something else!”

 

The nuts were all gone and the fire carefully extinguished when Bilbo left the valley not half an hour later. The rain had eased up and now it was a mere drizzle. Yet the hobbit still was wet to his bones when he finally entered the mountain. He really needed to remember to take his coat with him when he planned to go out.

When he reached his quarters, Thorin greeted him, yet blanched when he took in Bilbo’s drenched form. Instantly he shoved the hobbit towards his bedroom and ordered, “Undress!”

Grinning slyly, Bilbo asked, “Isn’t it a little early for that?”

Growling in displeasure, Thorin decided, “There will be none of that. You are wet to the bones, you need a hot bath. Otherwise you will catch a cold.” And with that he left Bilbo in his rooms, starting to prepare a steaming bath for his husband.

Deciding that having a caring husband had its perks, Bilbo took a cookie from the bowl on the mantelpiece and entered the bathroom in only his dressing gown. Munching the sweet, he watched his husband judging the temperature of the water, pouring a generous amount of oil into it.

“You know. I don’t really fancy a bath right now.” When Thorin seemed ready to protest, Bilbo continued, not allowing himself to be interrupted. “But I could maybe change my mind if you would accompany me.”

Crowding his hobbit against the wall, careful to not touch him, Thorin rumbled down at him, “That’s blackmail, are you aware of that?”

Grinning up, Bilbo really didn’t seem to care, he only asked, “Is it working?”

“Of course it is,” Thorin admitted, before burying his face into his lover’s neck, making Bilbo laugh when the dwarf was tickling him with his beard.

A little while later, both were enjoying their bath and Bilbo started to remove first his and then Thorin’s braids. Carefully washing his lover’s hair, he massaged his scalp, which made the dwarf downright purr. They should do this every other day, it was incredibly soothing and made Thorin forget about the problems and duties he had to care for, at least for now.

When he kissed Bilbo’s wrist, Bilbo caressing his chest with his other hand, Thorin finally noticed that something was missing. More often than not, Bilbo kept on the bracelet he had given him at the beginning of the summer, claiming that the silver wouldn’t be harmed by a little water. So when seeing the simple jewellery neither on his husband’s wrist, nor on the plate where they kept their clasps on during bathing, Thorin asked, “You don’t wear your bracelet any longer?”

It was but simple silver, and as royal consort, Bilbo deserved much better. But Thorin still felt a little sting at the thought of Bilbo abandoning his gift so easily. The hobbit had seemed so fond of it at the beginning of the summer.

Sensing his husband’s distress, Bilbo carded his hand through his hair once again, whispering soothingly, “I must have forgotten it at the training ground. Surely tomorrow I will find it again.”

Pacified a little, Thorin allowed Bilbo to pull him from the bath and oil and comb his wet hair. Afterwards they both returned to their respective duties: Thorin to his desk and Bilbo to his kitchen to prepare supper. Both still enjoyed second breakfast with their friends, but after an exciting day like today, they revelled in the opportunity to take a calm supper in their own rooms.

 

Once the meal had been served, Bilbo nudged Thorin towards ‘his’ armchair, and started to braid his hair again. Thorin had explained that Bilbo – having been given the braids as recompense for Thorin’s ‘unfaithfulness’ – was the only one allowed to put the front braids back into his husband’s hair. And while the dwarf was allowed to do the ones on the back himself, he enjoyed it much more when Bilbo did them too. So he sat still and deeply inhaled the lavender scent of his husband, allowing the familiar situation wash over him and calm him like nothing else could.

After doing Bilbo’s they both resumed their evening activities, Thorin drawing up another piece of jewellery (he had found a lot of inspiration in a book of flowers and vines he had seen in the library), Bilbo reading to him from one of his books.

The fire burned lower and after a little while Thorin was not able to make up the lines of his coal pencil any more. So he decided to nurture the flames and ignite a few candles. Bilbo had cleverly hung a highly polished silver plate above the fireplace, allowing it to reflect the sunlight that shone from the kitchen, lighting the room. But now the plate only reflected the borders of the windows and a star filled night.

When putting in more logs, arranging them to his liking, Thorin leaned forward to pull in the ember form the back of the fireplace, realizing suddenly that there was something sparkling right in the corner of his eye. When he turned his head, he found his braid, closed off with a clasp of pure gold. Reaching for the others, he found the wooden bead that had held that plaid before, replacing one of the silver beads he had worn initially.

Caressing the metal Thorin startled and his heart began to beat excitedly when he realized why the clasp seemed so familiar. Turning towards his husband, Thorin asked lowly, “Bilbo, where were you this afternoon?”

“I visited Vár.”

Approaching his husband, kneeling before him, Thorin allowed Bilbo to put the book aside, before reaching for the hobbit’s naked wrists. Kissing both of them adoringly, the dwarf asked affectionately, “It is possible that you won’t find your bracelet at the training grounds tomorrow?”

Trailing his fingers over his husband’s braid, admiring the clasp he had just fastened into it, Bilbo shook his head. “Well … I’m afraid that it is possible that it will be gone. But maybe … if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, you could make me a new one. I mean you are a smith, aren’t you?”

Fighting down the tears, knowing that Bilbo had worn it day in and day out and now had given it up for him, he buried his head in his husband’s lap, hugging him ever so tightly.

Quietly he promised, “I will forge you a new one, much better and prettier than the first. With stones and gems and everything you deserve. Thank you so much Bilbo. You don’t know what this means to me.”

Allowing his husband time to calm, gently trailing his fingers through his hair, Bilbo whispered a little later, “I don’t want gems and stones. The old one was perfect.”

Raising his head, kissing his husband’s hands, Thorin nodded. “Then no gems or stones it will be. And it will be ready when you return from your training tomorrow. Just … don’t leave it there the day after tomorrow,” Thorin added with a cheeky grin. “I’m not sure how often the silversmiths will allow me in their territory. There is always this big commotion when a prince enters the forges. You don’t know the excitement I caused when forging the tools for the fields in autumn.”

“I promise I will take good care of it.” Smiling adoringly at his husband, Bilbo nudged Thorin closer and sealed his lips with an affectionate kiss. He had loved his bracelet with all his heart, for it had proved the faith Thorin had had in him right from the beginning. But the exchange had been worth it, especially when seeing the joy in his husband’s eyes at having his mother’s bead returned to him.

Without any doubt Thorin would go to the raven valley as soon as possible, asking Vár for the bracelet. Yet, Bilbo was sure that she would put him off, demanding for him to return another day and ask her again, just like she had done with the clasp.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 


	30. Training and Lessons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some of Bilbo's lessons are more successful than others. And then there is this new bracelet everybody watches closely.

Thorin had needed a full week to forge a new bracelet. As promised, he had fallen back on a material resembling silver. At least it looked like silver though it was much lighter both in weight and in colour. It showed the word ‘saviour’ on the inside, and on the outside it was highly polished yet plain. In Bilbo’s mind it was perfect, not better than the old one but perfect still. Thorin had admitted that he had thought about etching the outside with vines, but Bilbo liked it much better the way it was, plain and simple, suitable for a simple hobbit of the Shire.

When he had worn it during his studies with the Master of Traditions, the dwarf had looked at it in awe. When Bilbo raised an eyebrow in question, Master Kiron merely shook his head and continued with their lesson on the dwarven rulers of old. By now Bilbo knew the line of Durin by heart, right from Durin the Deathless, as well as all the great achievements they had accomplished in their lifetimes, the greatest of which had been Khazad-dûm. Once more the hobbit was troubled by the knowledge of how much his dwarrows had lost in Smaug’s attack.

After two hours of studying, there was a brief meeting with the chef of the Blue Mountains. Though Bombur tried to make himself available as often as possible, it had happed twice already that he’d had to send one of his co-workers to discuss provisions and meal plans with the hobbit, as well as the needed repairs in the kitchen or pantries.

As soon as the word had spread that Bilbo could be found in one of the smaller conference rooms around elevenses, farmers approached him, discussing their plans for next year’s harvest and what should be planted where. This was a discussion Bilbo found much joy in. Not only were the dwarrows attentive to his suggestions, these were the things he truly cared for at heart: food and how to grow it. That it was for several hundred people and not only for himself didn’t make that much of a difference for him.

The farmers too had thrown incredulous looks at the bracelet but had refrained on saying anything.

Nori was the first one who allowed himself an audible reaction, whistling through his teeth, clearly impressed. At Bilbo’s frustrated, “What?” the dwarf merely shrugged his shoulders and started their training session. Dwalin had finished his theoretical lessons a day ago. Now Nori was putting this knowledge to practical use, something that did not always find Bilbo’s approval.

Nori didn’t train the royal consort for fair fighting. He trained him to win! By any means necessary.

“I won’t do that!” Bilbo was tired, his arm hurt since Nori had hit him twice already and the suggested countermove was more than unfair.

The auburn-haired dwarf didn’t seem the slightest bit frazzled by this outburst. He leaned against his staff, looking down at the hobbit who was breathing heavily, asking in a light tone, “And pray, Master Baggins, why would you refuse to circle your opponent, to get the chance to attack his unprotected back?”

“It’s unfair! Hitting one’s back is really bad style and I won’t do that!”

Frustrated by the reply, Nori swept Bilbo off his feet once the hobbit had risen and threatened him with the end of his staff. “Is that what you want to be written onto your tomb? Or Thorin’s? Or Fíli and Kíli’s? I lost them, but at least I fought fair?

“Wake up, Bilbo! Fighting is not about being fair. It’s is about surviving! Your survival and that of the people you love. If you want to train for ceremonial challenges, go back to Dwalin! He knows all the moves. He can show you attacks and counterattacks. He can tell you what is ‘legal’ in an honourable fight and what is frowned upon.

“I am not here to teach you that! I am here to show you how to protect yourself and those you love. An assassin who would act against the royal family won’t step up to you and attack you from up front. They will circle you and your family, observe from the shadows. They will examine you from every angle and when they see an opening, they … will … attack!”

During the last words, Nori had raised his staff, trying to hit Bilbo again and again. Yet the hobbit proved to be swift, even when on the floor. After the third attack, he used his momentum to attack Nori’s knee, so that the dwarf lost his footing. Yet being an experienced fighter he found it within a heartbeat, but that had been enough for Bilbo to rise to his feet again, drawing his dagger, ready for the next assault.

Nori showed him how to hit and how to slash, he exposed weaknesses of several stances, making sure that Bilbo knew how to use them. It became clear very fast that the hobbit was not strong enough to hold his ground for very long. So Nori decided that Bilbo’s initial attack method from a week ago would be a wise strategy in the future.

When Bilbo asked him about that, pondering, Nori simply replied, “Throwing knives.”

“I could kill somebody when throwing a knife at him!” Yet Bilbo’s outburst was merely answered with a raised eyebrow of his teacher. Aware that this was what their training was all about, Bilbo ducked his head and answered sheepishly, “Sorry, I forgot.”

Aware how very hard all this had to be for their hobbit, Nori put a hand on his shoulder and assured him, “If you don’t want to kill anybody, learn how to fight! That way you can decide where to hit and how to keep the damage to a minimum. Pierce a hand and that hand won’t attack your family, cripple a leg and whoever is sneaking up on you won’t be able to do so again. I have asked the Lady Dís to forge a nice set of throwing knives for you. They should be ready before the week is over. Then we can work on your aim.”

Trying to soothe Bilbo, Nori assured him, “I know this is hard for you, but you are doing very well. Always remember, we are training for a worst case scenario, something, that most likely will never happen. There are guards and your family is well versed in protecting themselves. But if they are distracted you can step in, like you did with the wolf who tried to attack Kíli.”

“How do you know?”

“Do you really think that you can save our youngest prince from harm and he won’t spread the word?”

Groaning, Bilbo buried his face in his hands. He had tried to forget about that particular incident, but obviously Kíli didn’t plan on making this easy for him. He was no fighter, no protector. It had been a lucky shot and in the end Kíli had been the one to kill the wolf. It was just that … that his boy would have most likely gotten injured if Bilbo hadn’t acted. In retrospect he was glad that he had had a knife at hand. Maybe throwing knives was not such a bad idea after all.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

Bilbo rushed towards the basins that sat at the edge of the training area, cleaning himself swiftly. He was expected by Dori, to help him with the baking – something he was looking forward to every day. Not only was Dori’s teahouse the cosiest place in the entire mountain, he enjoyed being around his friend on a daily basis. More often than not Ori would rush in for a swift cuppa, only to sit for nearly an hour, telling about his latest achievements in the library, and explaining in detail about the book he was working on.

Bilbo really didn’t know how he had become a help in Dori’s kitchen. At the beginning of the week Nori had mentioned in passing that his brother seemed to have trouble with a special cookie recipe and of course Bilbo had offered his help. Now, five days later, going there, kneading dough for cookies and pastries for an hour, had become a regular occurrence. Even though Bilbo’s arms ached from the strain, he had too much fun to withdraw his offer for help.

What the hobbit didn’t know was that Nori had discussed Bilbo’s lack of strength with his brother at the beginning of the week. Dori had simply laughed, suggesting that Bilbo should try to prepare dough for a hundred cookies and then his strength surely would build. As soon as the idea had left his mouth, the brothers had looked at each other with mischief in their eyes. The next day Bilbo had been up to his elbows in dough, unbeknownst building up muscles that would help him during training.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

The last appointment of the day was with the Royal Highness herself. Slowly but surely Dís had taken it upon herself to familiarize Bilbo with the majority of the guild masters. Traditionally the royal consort was given a year to get used to the ways things were handled. After that he was expected to act as a liaison between the royal family and the more important guilds, managing their budget and approving or adapting their plans.

Chef Bombur, had decided that he would rather confer with Bilbo than with Dís, no offence intended. Hobbits knew their food and discussing menus and storage was talked through much quicker with the royal consort than with the princess.

Dís hadn’t raised the slightest objections. She had seen how much joy the hobbit found in talking with Bombur, so she had dispensed these duties to him gladly.

Master Kiron had admitted that he had found it quite rewarding to teach the royal consort, but that the planning of ceremonies surely would go easier with the Majordomo and her Royal Highness. Not that he didn’t approve of Bilbo’s input, he just enjoyed doing things the traditional way, and there was much less resistance from the dwarrows than from the hobbit when it came to that.

The Master Tailor, as expected, had rejoiced upon hearing that Master Baggins would be his liaison from now on.

Unexpectedly, Andvari too had suggested that Master Baggins should be closely involved in the planning of mine shafts and the decisions of what should be done with the riches they unearthed.

Thráin – since a king could allow himself a treat now and then, and dealing personally with the dwarrows who harvested the riches from their mountains had always been a pleasure for him – had offered little objections. During their first meeting at the beginning of the week, Bilbo had impressed both the King and the Master of Mines with his new knowledge about mining. Therefore the king had reserved his right to attend these meetings now and then, but had offered his faith in Bilbo Baggins that he could handle the miners from now on.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

When Dís and Bilbo had shared a relaxing cup of tea that afternoon, the princess had been the one to reveal the value of Thorin’s gift. They had discussed the preservation of their traditions and how to best achieve that far from home. Bilbo had suggested that the eldest dwarrows in the mountains should be given time with the scribes.

Surely even the simple folk remembered stories that were of value to their traditions. For now only the Lords of the Councils or the Guild Masters had done their share to preserve their history. Nobody had thought to include the commoners, but Dís thought it a good idea, making a note to talk with her father about it.

When Bilbo reached for the teapot, offering a refill for his sister-in-law, Dís made a very un-ladylike whistle and reached for his wrist. She sounded impressed when she stated, “Wow, Thorin really has outdone himself.”

“It looks very much identical to the one he gave me in the Shire. Look, even the inscription is the same.” The hobbit handed over the bracelet, showing the letters to the princess. He was confused why everybody was reacting in such a way. Truly nobody had ever spared his old bracelet a second glance.

Turning the trinket in her hand, the lady-dwarf smiled, caressing the inscription before giving it back. “Well, it surely does look like the other one, but I doubt that the first bracelet my brother gave you in the Shire was made of mithril!”

“Mithril?”

Picking up her tea, Dís merely nodded. “Of course mithril. Didn’t you wonder why it was so shiny and light?”

“Yes … of course … but …” Bilbo could only stammer, looking at the bracelet in his hand. “But I thought mithril was invaluable.”

“As are you to my brother, Bilbo. In all likelihood, you carry the worth of the entirety of our purchases from the Shire on your wrist now, Bilbo.”

Blanching at the thought, Bilbo was grateful that Dís took his cup before it could slip from his fingers.

Mithril …

Worth more than all the food they had bought …

“I … I need to talk to Thorin.”

When Bilbo left on unsteady feet, Dís merely smiled, peeking out of the door to make sure that he brother-in-law made it to his rooms without losing his footing.

Truthfully, it was not a surprise for her that Thorin had chosen the most precious metal available for the new bracelet. He had shared the joy of having his mother’s bead back at the beginning of the week and together they had decided that a mithril bracelet was a suitable piece of jewellery for the royal consort, even without any additional gems or engravings. Obviously their father had shared the sentiment and given Thorin free rein in the forges.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

When entering Thorin’s room, Bilbo had worked past his confusion. He glared down at his husband and thunked down his new bracelet on top of his papers, asking in a stern voice, “Mithril, Thorin?”

Picking up the jewellery, inspecting it from all sides like he had done a dozen times ahead of giving it to Bilbo to make sure it was flawless, Thorin merely nodded, “Yes, Mithril, don’t you like it? It looks exactly like your old one.”

At that Bilbo slumped against the desk, rubbing his head tiredly. “Of course I like it, it is beautiful. But how could you use mithril? Your sister said that it is worth more than the food we acquired in the Shire and even that was an enormous amount of money.”

Aware that his sister had understated the bracelet’s value on Bilbo’s behalf, Thorin pulled his husband against his chest, calmingly petting his back. Lowly he whispered, “You said you wanted one exactly like the old one. I wanted one suitable for the royal consort, suitable for my husband. We both got our way.”

“This is too much, Thorin. This is so much too much that I don’t even dare to think about it …”

“Dear, …” tenderly Thorin coaxed up Bilbo’s head, so that his hobbit was looking at him. “You are worth more to me than this entire kingdom. If you so much as give inkling that you wish me to abandon it, I would leave with you for the Shire tomorrow. Yet you have chosen to stay here, with me, and believe me I am grateful for that. So just let me gift you with something valuable on occasion to prove my gratitude. I am a dwarf, so sadly baking a cake for you is out of the question.”

Burying himself in Thorin’s chest again, aware that his dwarf had simply done what was … dwarvish, Bilbo mumbled, “Can’t you pick flowers for me? Their cost wouldn’t give me a heart attack when someone tells me about it.”

Lifting his husband’s face again, bestowing the most loving kiss on him, Thorin stated, “Promise! As soon as springtime comes it will be flowers. Can you be content with the bracelet until then?”

Caressing the shiny metal, Bilbo whispered, “It really is beautiful,” before putting it back on his wrist.

 

Relieved because his husband had accepted his present, Thorin hugged him close, wishing that he never had to let go. He had been aware that his lover would be anxious when hearing about the value of his new piece of jewellery, but Thorin hadn’t been able to even think about another silver bracelet for Bilbo. The royal consort wearing silver, who had ever heard of that?

Gold had been an alternative, suitable for his position, but he still refrained from getting to close to that particular metal. Brass and copper had simply been unsuitable and steel would have been too heavy. So mithril had seemed like the perfect choice; and once his father had been convinced, Thorin had made his way through the mine-shafts and the forges of the mountain to gather enough mithril for his plan.

It had taken him nearly five days and every gram of the precious metal had been carefully weighted and noted down, since the royal family would compensate the miners and smiths for the loss.

Two days had been needed to heat up the main forge to be able to melt the metal and forge the simple band. There was no metal harder than mithril, so it needed extremely high temperatures to be melted down. The forging of the bracelet and its inscription had not taken more than a few hours. Bilbo had been patient with Thorin and had rejoiced when he had gotten it.

He had admitted that he had missed the weight on his wrist, reminding him of the many obstacles they had conquered together. Thorin had simply loved seeing the precious metal shining against his husband’s golden skin.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

After that overly emotional encounter Bilbo had opted for a light supper, promising a richer dinner for later. Aware that hobbits always were calmed down by food, Thorin had not objected. Together they had consumed a light salad; no, Thorin still found no appeal in green food, but had not spoken up, for Bilbo had promised a hearty stew with freshly baked bread for dinner.

When everything was simmering on the stove, Bilbo retreated to his own rooms, picking up a book from his desk. He remembered that special volume. It had been one of his wedding presents, the one with the inscription to ‘open when alone’. Well he was alone now, so he ignited the candles on his desk and pulled open the binding.

When he first opened it, he was sure that he had gotten the wrong book. Truly, it was beautiful with the calligraphy and the drawings, but the entire text seemed to be written in Khuzdul. Confused he turned the pages, spotting a paragraph at the side, written in Westron. When he flew over the words, they sounded strangely familiar. He leafed through the book, only to find more texts, obviously commenting on the main paragraphs. When he reached about the middle, he suddenly remembered.

He had read this only this morning, during his lesson with Master Kiron. Fetching his educational book on dwarvish traditions, he skimmed through the pages until he found the paragraph in question. As expected, there was the same side note, written in the same handwriting. Once again, Bilbo looked over the page.

There, the last paragraph, didn’t this combination of runes spell the word ‘saviour’? Looking into his well-used volume, he found the sentence to start with: _“Thráin the First, saviour of his people in the battle of …”_

Looking for more similarities, since by now Bilbo had learned the meaning of a few dwarvish runes, the hobbit’s face slowly lit up. The books were the same. Every word, every last phrase exactly the same! That’s why the translation sometimes seemed a little awkward. Ori had not tried to be smooth and simple, he had tried to be accurate when translating one of the most important books on dwarven history for his friend.

Hobbits could not be taught the ancient, **sacred** language of the dwarrows. The reaction of the dwarrows of the southern mountains had proved that, when Bilbo had reacted to their words. They had only been pacified when Bilbo had informed them that his husband had translated for him.

But with this book, with these books, he might not need a teacher. If the translation really was as accurate as Bilbo suspected, he could teach himself, just like he had done with the elvish letters when far from Rivendell.

Carefully closing his new treasure, Bilbo made sure that his stew would not burn and skipped over to Thorin, telling him that he would just dash to the library, fetching another empty book. His husband’s confused question if his latest volume was already full was answered with a mere smile, “I’m just trying a different approach. I will be back in a moment, promise.”

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

Upon his entering the rooms, Bilbo found Ori still sitting at his desk, carefully copying a picture from an ancient, torn volume. Waiting patiently for the dwarf to pull the feather back from the paper, Bilbo cleared his throat inconspicuously, mirroring Ori’s smile when the dwarf looked upon him.

“Master Baggins, what can I do for you this late in the evening?” As expected, the dwarf left behind his desk, approaching Bilbo.

Scratching his head, unsure how he should formulate his request, Bilbo remembered that the translation had been done by Ori himself, so the dwarf most likely knew what he needed another study-book for. “Well, Master Ori, I finally came back to this special book that was given to me on my wedding day. It is really beautiful, you know. I am just in dire need of another empty volume. I think studying it will take much time and even more resources.”

Beaming because ‘his’ book was called beautiful, Ori dashed off into the depths of the library, returning with a very long, very narrow book, bound in shreds of different leather. When Bilbo opened it he found the paper to be slightly off colour.

Ori explained, “We make these sorts of books for the studies of the little ones. They can write down their words and don’t waste too much paper, since it is made of old volumes that simply were unsalvageable. We add bleach to it every time we go through a paper-making process so that it is not too dark to be written upon.”

Smiling at his little friend, Bilbo hugged Ori tightly. “Thank you, Ori. This is perfect, exactly what I need.” Every ‘line’ would be enough to hold a single word. That would make it easy for Bilbo to learn the runes, together with their translation.

Before he could leave again, Ori pushed a folded page into his hand, winking at Bilbo before he returned to his desk.

 

Bilbo barely made it back to the safety of his room before curiosity overwhelmed him. Unfolding the piece of parchment he couldn’t supress a laugh, when he looked over the letters of the Khuzdul alphabet Ori had given him.

 

 

 

It took Bilbo a little while to find all the letters he was used to in Westron, making it his first assignment to sort them properly, throwing in the runes that were unique to the language of the dwarrows wherever they seemed to fit. It would take him a long time to get used to this language, but Bilbo was more than certain that he would manage, especially with the inconspicuous help of his youngest friend.

Carefully hiding away his newest treasures, he called upon his husband for them to finish the dinner preparations. Maybe he could coax one sound or another out of Thorin. Reading was really only half the way to get fluent in a language. He needed to know how the letters sounded, before he had any hope of understanding what the people of this kingdom were saying.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly have no idea where I did get this picture from. I don't know to whom it belongs, so please don't tell ;).


	31. Not the best idea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is ... nearly going where you think it is. Have fun!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all: A VERY HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!
> 
> Second, I know that this chapter will be a little smutty at the edges. (Is smutty even a word?)  
> And I know that many of you like that in my stories. But Thorin has a history and tonight it will catch up with him. Love conquers a lot but it does not make everything magically better. For that time is needed, a lot of effort and even more time!

At the end of each day Bilbo and Thorin would take a bath. That was not a rule, more like an unspoken agreement. Bilbo had decided that he didn’t like his hair – especially that on his feet – all sticky and glued to his skin after training and helping Dori in a hot kitchen.

Thorin would join his husband. After a long day he needed time to unwind and nothing was better than hot, scented water and Bilbo’s fingers gently caressing him. More often than not it would lead to more: the two of them had discovered that both were quite partial to sex in the tub.

Yet today, Bilbo merely helped Thorin to wash, allowing the dwarf to do the same, not initiating anything. Assuming that his lover still was slightly bothered by the value of his new bracelet, Thorin decided to play nice and not press for something Bilbo might not be in the mood for. As it turned out, Thorin was in for a surprise, for after getting his hair braided, he suddenly felt the soft cloth that usually held back his hair, covering his eyes.

“Bilbo, what …”

Before the dwarf could finish the question he felt soft lips gently brushing over his mouth. When Bilbo slid onto his lap, Thorin immediately closed his arms around the hobbit, anchoring himself in the dark to the one person he needed the most. From the feeling of it, his lover only wore his dressing grown, but nothing underneath. And wasn’t that thought making the blood in Thorin’s body travel southwards.

After a teasing kiss, Bilbo leaned towards his ear and whispered alluringly, “Do you remember what I told you after you gave me a nosebleed?”

Swallowing heavily, Thorin nodded.

“Well, I decided that today is the perfect day for you to make up for all the things that have irritated me lately.”

The prince couldn’t supress a grin when he inquired, “ **All** the things?”

“ **All** the things!”

Thorin could hear the mischief in his hobbit’s voice, but decided not to call him on it. So he merely waited for his husband to finish his sentence. “Or would you say that you have been the perfect husband lately?”

Snickering slightly, Thorin lowered his head in mocking humility. “Of course not, for I was flirting with that foreign princess and what, by Mahal, did I think giving you such a valuable bracelet when you clearly wished for a silver one? Very bad husband indeed … ignoring your wishes and all that.”

He shivered slightly, when he felt his lover’s hot breath caressing the sensitive skin right below his ear. “So you see. A lot to make up for …”

Tilting his head with a moan, involuntary arching his groin into Bilbo’s, Thorn revelled in the friction their fused bodies created. But after a mere moment, his hobbit pulled back, caressing his lover’s skin from shoulder to hand, gently encouraging Thorin to rise. Cautious yet willing, Thorin allowed Bilbo to lead him towards his bedroom.

 

The fire had been nurtured more than usual, so the room felt very warm on Thorin’s damp skin. So he didn’t protest when Bilbo slowly sank to his knees in front of him, showering his chest and tummy with kisses on his way down, slowly undoing the laces of his smallclothes.

Thorin wished he could see his husband, reach for his golden locks to pull him where he desired him the most. But on the one hand, he rarely dared to urge his hobbit into anything Bilbo wouldn’t do on his own; it simply didn’t feel right. And on the other hand, this game clearly stated that he was at Bilbo’s mercy tonight.

Squeezing his eyes close under the blindfold, he reached out for his husband’s shoulders, to have something, anything to hold on to. Obviously content with Thorin’s compliance, Bilbo placed a tender kiss on his hip, before rising to his feet again, gently guiding his dwarf to the bed.

When Thorin sat at the edge, he realized that most of the furs had been removed and that only the comforter had remained. The bed felt much ‘lower’ than usually. Allowing his husband to push him back, Thorin scuttled into the middle, shivering when Bilbo’s fingers traced from his waist over his side, sliding over his arms until he reached his wrists.

The dwarf exhaled in surprise, when he felt a soft cloth circling his wrist, before being pulled taut. He was tempted to test the stability of the bond, when he felt Bilbo’s body covering his own, rewarding him with a deep and intoxicating kiss for his pliancy. Enjoying his husband’s teasing tongue, Thorin didn’t utter a protest when Bilbo bound his other wrist, effectively rendering him helpless.

Had Thorin been worried before that he wouldn’t like Bilbo pleasuring him without a way to reciprocate, he was now convinced of the opposite. Everything was so much more intense due to his lack of sight and whatever would happen was entirely out of his hands and the ability to just let go and wait for whatever Bilbo would do to him was liberating in its own way.

After having him secured, Thorin could feel Bilbo slowly making his way down his body. There were lingering touches, tender kisses and continual caresses. They paused for a little while in his groin area, teasing him in the best possible way, and by Mahal how very much he would love Bilbo touching his leaking shaft at that very moment. But all too soon the hobbit was sliding further down, peppering his legs with kisses, making Thorin squirm a little, when his lover reached all the way down to his toes.

Usually he enjoyed Bilbo massaging his feet, it calmed him down and he enjoyed the hobbit’s deft fingers on his skin, massaging his soles, seemingly kneading all of the days stress away. Thorin cringed however, when he felt Bilbo’s lips pressed to the arch of his foot. “Bilbo, don’t …”

Repeating the stroke tenderly, Bilbo whispered so that Thorin could feel the hobbit’s breath caressing his skin. “Why not? I love your feet, they are all small and naked and adorable …” And as if to prove it, Bilbo placed another kiss right at the arch of his foot.

Never before had Thorin ever associated a touch to his feet with anything even remotely arousing. But what Bilbo was doing this very moment shot straight to his shaft, making him arch from the bed and into the caress. “Please, I …” Those were his feet, he was walking on them all day in thick socks and suffocating boots. True, he had just taken a bath, but they just didn’t feel suitable for the kind of attention Bilbo was bestowing on them.

Aware of the confusion his actions were causing, Bilbo repeated the motion, caressing his husband’s foot tenderly. “Doesn’t this feel good to you?”

“Of course it does, but … that’s my foot, you shouldn’t do that.”

“Really? But I like doing it. Maybe we should try something else … hang in there, I’ll be back in a moment, lover.” Chuckling at his own pun, Bilbo slid off the bed.

And with that Thorin was alone. He had felt the bed shift and after that he thought he heard the whisper of cloth but nothing beyond that. The next sound was a clang from the bathroom, after that there was silence.

Thorin waited several moments, trying not to strain the bonds that held him on the bed since the ribbons Bilbo was using were soft on his skin, but not very strong if he truly tried to get loose. The first indication that his husband was back was the slight scent from the massage oil they stored next to the tub. It was slightly warm and seeped into the skin quite fast, as opposed to the oil they used in bed.

When he felt small fingers caressing the soles of his feet again, he smiled. Obviously Bilbo was pulling all stops to make him feel as relaxed as possible. Confusing, for Thorin had thought he was supposed to be the active partner when making things up to Bilbo, but he surely wasn’t complaining.

Yet somehow this slowly started to feel wrong. Thorin knew that the person massaging his feet could only be his husband. But Bilbo hadn’t said anything upon his return, nothing to reassure Thorin that it was truly him. It really could be anybody there sitting on his bed, touching him. Not that anybody would massage his feet, Thorin censured these rogue thoughts, but the longer his hobbit remained silent, the more uneasy Thorn felt.

When oily fingers travelled over his shins, wandering higher, Thorin rasped, “Bilbo …?”

“Hm?”

The sound was low and raspy, thick with desire, yet Thorin was unable to identify his lover by it and that really was the last straw for the dwarf.

All of a sudden the scene in the Shire forcefully pushed to the forefront of his mind. The hobbit that had touched him hadn’t said anything either, had only made nonsensical noises and in the end had turned out **not** to be his fiancé.

Fighting down a full body shiver, Thorin tore at his bonds so forcefully that they ripped. The dwarf sat up so fast, tearing the cloth away from his eyes, that he nearly head-butted his husband, who had moved aside as soon as he had realized his husband’s distress.

“Thorin, what …”

Clutching the binding between his hands, nearly tearing the material, Thorin’s breath came in short, distressed grasps. “I can’t, Bilbo … sorry, but I can’t. Not like this.” He tried his very best not to flinch, not to quiver like a little dwarfling waking up from his first nightmare, but his anguish wouldn’t allow him to remain still. Not when his interaction with Gentian was at the forefront of his mind again.

Bilbo was shivering as well, reflecting his husband’s distress. Cautiously reaching for his lover’s hands which seemed ready to tear his father’s handkerchief in two, Bilbo asked, “What is wrong, Thorin? Did I hurt you? What did I do wrong?”

The hobbit watched his dwarf to reach for him, bringing their foreheads together. Thorin’s broken tone however ripped through his heart, “Nothing, Bilbo, I … I just can’t do it this way. Without being able to see you. I’m sorry, I …”

 

And wasn’t that as if somebody had dumped a bucket of ice water over the hobbit’s head.

By everything that was sacred, how could he have been so stupid? Of course Thorin wouldn’t find joy in being blindfolded. Not when being touched unwillingly by someone he hadn’t been able to see. Bilbo very much wanted to hit himself for this slip of judgement; however, his husband sitting in front of him, a picture of misery, was his top priority. He needed to comfort his lover who seemed equally depressed by the occurrences of the past and fretful for ‘spoiling’ Bilbo’s play. Well, that simply wouldn’t do.

Slowly winding the cloth out of Thorin’s fingers, Bilbo crowded the strong body with his own. As soon as he was straddling his dwarf’s lap, Thorin held on to him like he was his only anchor, all the while apologizing frantically for his inability to see this game through.

The dwarf seemed convinced that his lover was mad at him for bringing their playtime to such an abrupt ending.

Trailing his fingers through his husband’s tresses pacifyingly, Bilbo whispered, “Thorin, don’t. This was my fault, not yours! I should have remembered. To leave you like this was entirely irresponsible. Please, don’t worry, and stop apologizing, my sweet. You did nothing wrong, everything is fine.”

 

It took the hobbit quite some time to calm his lover down. After nearly an hour, both lay in his bed, Thorin on his chest as always, dragging at the torn ribbons that were still bound around his wrists.

Bilbo could feel that this was far from over, but for now he was grateful that he had gotten his dwarf to relax a little.

He wanted to hit himself with one of his new books, preferably the heavy one, for his thoughtlessness. Of course leaving Thorin alone, not speaking to him upon his return would remind his husband of his assault. How could Bilbo have forgotten about that?

“I wanted to make it up to you.” The dwarf’s words were nothing more than a hushed whisper, ashamed and nearly inaudible. It was only due to his attentiveness that Bilbo heard them at all.

“What did you want to make up to me?”

Gesturing helplessly, Thorin admitted after a few heartbeats, “The hit to the nose, you know …”

Hugging his husband closer, since the bad conscience of his dwarf was nearly killing him, Bilbo assured Thorin, “There is nothing to make up for. You didn’t slap me on purpose, we both knew that right from the beginning. This was a game, a game that I – foolishly – thought you might enjoy. It was stupid of me not to remember, and I am so very sorry that I made you uneasy. That’s not what this was about.”

 

After a little while, Thorin finally allowed his hand to come to rest on Bilbo’s stomach. “I didn’t hate the part with the ribbons. It was … I think I might have liked that. But when you went away and didn’t make yourself known upon your return... It was as if I couldn’t be sure that it was still you. I mean I was sure but a tiny part of me wondered, so I panicked.”

“I know, my sweet. I am sorry for that.” Bilbo kissed his husband’s head, looking down at him with so much concern.

“Now I have torn the ribbons and we can’t …”

Smiling at the unspoken implication, Bilbo hugged his dwarf closer. “I am sure I can find another pair of ribbons and we can try again, without the blindfold of course, and only if you want. You have to be sure. Tonight was not about me but you. I wanted you to relax and just enjoy it, without the need to think or to reciprocate. Just to lay back and enjoy me pleasuring you.”

 

The hobbit could feel his husband nod on his chest, and had to bite his lip, when Thorin murmured after a while, “So … I have small, adorable feet?”

Bilbo gasped to keep himself from laughing out loud, since he suspected that dwarrows had the same saying as the hobbits, linking the size of the feet to that of other parts of the male anatomy. He tried to come up with an excuse. “Well, they are smaller than mine and … and you don’t have any hair and … and …”

When his husband looked up at him – deep, blue eyes alight with supressed laughter – Bilbo finally caved. “Alright, they are adorable to me. Every time I see you barefoot I want to touch them and nibble at them and … yes, I know it is weird but I can’t help myself. I just think they are cute.”

With a huffed laugh, Thorin returned to his hobbit’s chest, grumbling quietly, “I do not have ‘cute’ feet. And if you spread the rumour, I won’t help you with your walnut cookies for a whole month. Then we’ll see how you explain to Dwalin why his favourite cookie jar is empty.”

Grinning, Bilbo informed his dwarf, “I have made cookies before coming here, you know.”

“Yes, you have. But you never had walnuts as stubborn as those we have here. You said yourself that you could never crack enough of them on your own to keep up with Dwalin’s appetite!”

Grumpily, Bilbo stated, “You are mean.”

“But I have adorable, little feet,” Thorin countered, kissing his husband one last time before finally closing his eyes, sinking into a restful sleep.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

The next morning both spouses were considerably more relaxed and could see last night’s incident for what it was: a failed attempt they could learn from. Bilbo even dangled a few ribbons in front of Thorin’s eyes, only to have them snatched away for safekeeping.

After first breakfast, during washing up, Bilbo inhaled deeply in front of the open window and when he shuddered, Thorin closed his arms around his husband protectively. His words were tender yet worried. “What is it, dear?”

Bilbo only predicted ominously, “There will be snow today and a storm is coming. It will hit tomorrow at the latest.”

Confused by his husband’s statements about the weather – they really were protected as well as possible inside the mountain – Thorin nudged him from behind. “So?”

But instead of an explanation, Bilbo turned around and gave him a forced smile. “Nothing. Do you want to meet after my training lesson, before I go help Dori? We could have lunch together.”

Confused by the sudden change of subject, yet unsure of how to pursue the initial topic, Thorin shook his head. “I’m afraid I can’t. With winter approaching I have to supervise the last repairs in the outer chambers. We have to decide which renovations can wait for the next year and which have to be done this season.”

At the uncomprehending look of his husband, the dwarf elaborated, “There was a lot of bad rock in these mountains when we claimed it. We think that was part of the reason the other dwarrows gave it up. Even though we have tried to restore the parts that are more or less stable and break down those that are unsalvageable, there still is a lot of work to do.”

“What’s ‘bad rock’?”

Trying to find the easiest explanation, Thorin went for a hobbit-like approach. “You know when you make your cakes, the gigantic ones for the parties where you top one cake with another. Imagine your cake has too little flour in it. What would happen?”

Bilbo replied without hesitation, “It would collapse.” When understanding dawned, the hobbit looked considerably panicked. “You mean this mountain is unstable? That it could collapse?”

Hugging his husband, calmingly rubbing his back, Thorin explained, “No, of course not. This mountain is good and solid. There are just parts that need a little reinforcement, that is all. I promise, Bilbo, you don’t have to be afraid. Our chambers are nearly the topmost ones. The structure is good and sturdy. Not even a landslide would harm us here. The force behind it would be too small. It would just bounce off our walls.”

Only slightly assured by these words, Bilbo joined Thorin for second breakfast before attending his studies.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

His lessons were moving from dwarvish history to legal matters, something that was highly interesting for Bilbo. The Master of Traditions was starting with not only the responsibilities, but also the rights of the royal consort. It seemed that Bilbo had some kind of right of veto if the council decided on something he didn’t approve of.

The only person able to override his vote was the king. Well, he did stand above all others. Yet it still was expected from His Majesty to listen to the consort’s objections before deciding on a course of action. Bilbo wrote this down, enhancing it with an elegant decorative vignette circling the paragraph. It was surprising for him that the consort of the royal heir had such rights, especially since it was written nowhere whether the heir himself had similar rights. Maybe it was expected that the king and his heir agreed in all things?

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

Arms training was no better than the day before. Though Nori’s approach was easier for Bilbo to follow than Dwalin’s (though meaner), the hobbit still had problems with full body contact. Whenever he was close to a person he hesitated to ‘go for the kill’ so to speak and that usually ended in Nori having him pinned down to the floor. Though the dwarf tried to help the hobbit to understand the importance of being able to attack and defend himself, there was tension building between the two of them.

That, however, was the last thing Nori ever wanted. He had come to like Bilbo Baggins very much, especially after seeing what he had done for his people and even more for his family. He occasionally watched from the shadows, when Bilbo was talking to Ori. How easily his younger brother opened up to the hobbit and how much they were at ease around each other. They even hugged now and then.

The same went for Nori’s older brother. The information officer had made a habit of eating in Dori’s café when he knew Bilbo was working there – a work he had arranged because the hobbit seriously needed to build up his strength, and kneading cookie dough for an hour on end would help him with that. He could hear Dori sharing stories from court, laughing with the hobbit. Bilbo admitted that he was not at all looking forward to attending council meetings, but enjoyed Dori’s view nevertheless.

The hobbit prepared regular tea for Bofur and Bifur in the royal chambers and always had time to chat with Bombur in the morning, sometimes even before lunch when the chef came in, discussing official matters.

Even the sons of Fundin were fiercely protective of the royal consort and let that show whenever they were around him.

Fíli, Kíli and Dís’s love for Bilbo knew no bounds, simply because he made their Thorin happy.

 

So Nori was really the only former inhabitant of Bag End who still had trouble improving his personal relationship with the hobbit. And though he would never admit that to anybody, it irked him a lot. Bilbo was supportive and funny, always there to lend a helping hand or ear when somebody approached him and asked for advice.

Yet all Nori had been able to do for him was shadowing him on occasion and criticizing him during training. Bilbo didn’t look at him with the warm affection he shared with the others and for the first time in his life Nori felt the desire to gain another’s sympathy without an ulterior motive like gathering information.

He didn’t want to be the ever criticising taskmaster, when it came to the hobbit’s fighting skills, but he knew no other way of training. “Master Baggins, I thought you said you were good at fighting. You surely proved it with the wolf and when you bested me after threatening Thorin.”

Rising from the floor where Nori had pinned him … again! … Bilbo snapped, “I never said I was good at fighting. I am a hobbit, for crying out loud! I said that I was winning most of the conkers contests in Hobbiton. Obviously I am better at hitting one chestnut with another than a body with a bloody knife.”

Stopping his next attack, Nori asked incredulously, “You can hit a chestnut with another chestnut? At what distance?”

Catching his breath, Bilbo explained, “Well, about two feet. You have them on strings, you know. The conkers, I mean. You hold your string steady and hit the other conker until it breaks. There is nothing more to it, it’s just a game.”

Thinking for a moment, Nori gestured towards the door, “Show me.”

 

For that they had to get out of the mountain. They passed through the tailor’s workshop, asking for some sturdy string, getting one in deep blue of course – Bilbo was a member of the Durin family after all.

Once in the inner valleys, Bilbo approached one of the chestnut trees that grew there, picking up several nuts.

It was easy enough to make a hole in the conkers with one of the tools Nori hid on his body. Bilbo truly didn’t want to ask why he kept a bodkin stashed away in a secret pouch. Some things were better left unmentioned.

Then Bilbo showed the dwarf. It didn’t take long for Nori to pick up on the rules of the game. Yet he, the weapons expert for everything that was small and sneaky, couldn’t manage to hit one chestnut with another, while the royal consort, who really had no talent for fighting as he constantly proclaimed, hit his nut at every try, breaking it after no more than four hits.

Huffing in frustration, Nori threw away his last conker, only to dash around when Bilbo hit it right out of the air, smirking at him somewhat triumphantly, “I win.”

Looking for an amicable target, the dwarf gestured for a chestnut that sat high in the tree beside them. “Can you hit that one too?”

Following Nori’s line of sight, Bilbo shrugged and stated, “Sure,” before twirling his last conker on the string, hitting the fruit clean of the branch.

Unbelieving, Nori went over to pick up the fallen conker. “You know what, Bilbo, maybe we should try yet another approach. Maybe you are better from a distance. The Lady Dís will have your throwing knives ready within the week, but if you are good at throwing things, we surely can find something better than chestnuts.”

Sinking into the grass, defeated, Bilbo mumbled, “I don’t want to hit people with knives and other hard stuff. That would only hurt them. I’m a hobbit, we solve problems with our words, not by force.”

Sitting down in front of the hobbit, Nori asked, “Not even if people are threatening your family?”

Remembering his spectacular loss of composure in the Shire when he had broken Gentian Longleaf’s nose for bad-mouthing his dwarrows, Bilbo shook his head. “I don’t even want to think about something like that.

“But these Mountains are your home, we all are supposed to be safe here. How can you call a place your home and prepare yourself for fighting there at the same time?”

Scratching his head, Nori admitted, “It’s different with dwarrows, especially with the royal family. Do you people never disagree with the thain?”

Bilbo rolled his eyes. “Of course we disagree with him on occasion. Then we go over and talk to him. Or in my case shout at him. But none of us would ever think of attacking him. That’s improper and utterly respectless on top of that!”

Looking at his hands, Nori admitted quietly, “I understand that.”

After a little while the dwarf continued, “Please believe me, Bilbo, when I tell you that I wish it would be the same with us. But sadly it is not. I don’t want to hurt you or punish you with our training. I am grateful for what you did for us and especially how you treat my family. I just want to make sure that you are able to defend the ones you love.”

Reaching for Nori’s hands, the hobbit hesitated for a moment before squeezing them, and for a second the dwarf seemed unsure of the gesture. Yet he allowed it, so Bilbo stated, “I know, Nori, and I am sorry that I snapped at you.”

The dwarf shook his head empathically. “No need to apologize. How about we call it a day and invade my brother’s café for some late lunch?”

When Bilbo smiled at him, Nori felt vaguely hopeful that he too would be able to establish a personal relationship with the hobbit that went beyond duty. The dwarf liked the hobbit and the prospect of being the only one Bilbo didn’t see as a friend didn’t sit well with him. In their line of duty they would need all the friends they could get.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please tell me what you think.


	32. A Storm is coming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Living in a mountain can be pretty scary for a hobbit. Luckily he has dwarrows caring for him.

Fíli and Kíli shared a worried look before bursting into Bilbo’s rooms. Even from the corridor they had heard a fearful shout coming from the hobbit’s chamber.

Upon entering, they couldn’t spot their new uncle. Only when looking into the kitchen, did they find their new uncle shaking like a leaf, clutching the counter so hard that his knuckles turned white. His eyes were trained at the window where snow was whirling towards the window.

Watchfully Fíli and Kíli were approaching their hobbit, asking worriedly, “Is everything alright, Bilbo?”

“Did you hurt yourself?”

When the hobbit merely shook his head, they looked at each other, at loss of what to do. Both had heard him shouting, they were sure of that, and he was clearly distressed now, yet unwilling to share his concerns.

Hesitating for a moment, Kíli mouthed at his brother, “Get Thorin.”

Hesitating for a second, the older brother petted Bilbo’s back awkwardly, before dashing out. It should be he who cared for Bilbo, he was the older brother, the more responsible one. But Kíli had made the right decision on a whim. Fíli would be more easily accepted to interrupt a council in session than Kíli.

 

When there was a severe rumble overhead, Bilbo flinched and couldn’t bite back a whimper. Kíli pulled him into a protective embrace, urging him away from the window. The dwarf was aware that during a storm the mountain would occasionally rumble over his mother’s old quarters. It had always been this way and had worried Dís at the beginning. But extensive investigations of the rock had shown that there really was nothing wrong. The stone was sturdy and would hold.

Mumbling reassurances, hugging Bilbo as tight as possible to calm the scared hobbit, Kíli got the both of them on the bench, so that they could sit a little more comfortably. Surely Fíli would be back with uncle soon and Thorin would know what to do with his husband. It really didn’t sit well with Kíli that their hobbit was close to panicking.

 

Bilbo actually calmed a little when Kíli assured him that the rumbling had always been there and that it meant nothing.

Assuming that the dwarf would never lie to him, but feeling better if the matter was looked into, Bilbo asked Kíli if he was inclined to investigate again. Just to make sure that everything was in order. He was aware that there were a few rooms overhead, but Thorin had always told him that they were empty and of no interest. The hobbit still had to make time to explore.

Unsure whether he should leave Bilbo alone, Kíli nodded after the assurance from the hobbit that he would be alright and met his brother in the hallway.

“Thorin promised that he would be here in a moment. Why did you leave Bilbo alone?”

With a sigh Kíli explained, “The rumbling from the topmost chambers scares him. So I promised to take a look. I think he is a little embarrassed since we found him in such a state of distress.”

Chewing at his bottom lip, Fíli asked, “Do you really think we should leave him alone?”

“Uncle will be here soon. I think it would give Bilbo peace of mind if we made sure that the whole mountain would NOT come down on his head.”

Agreeing with his brother, Fíli took a lantern form the end of the corridor and the brothers made their way up a narrow and crude staircase that would lead up to the unused chambers of the royal wing. They had surveyed these parts upon their arrival in the Blue Mountains, but soon they had found more interesting playgrounds than empty caverns and hadn’t gone up there since.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

The day had been longer and more exhausting than Thorin could have ever anticipated. Yet Fíli asking for him regarding Bilbo gave him a valid reason to cut the last meeting short, and within a few moments the construction crew had cleared the council chamber.

True, Thorin was worried about Bilbo, but not overly so since he was well aware that the royal chambers were the safest within the mountain. So the prince was not prepared for what awaited him in his rooms.

Though Fíli had assured him that Bilbo would be there, the dwarf couldn’t spot his husband at first glance. After entering the kitchen, closing the windows against the oncoming snowstorm, Thorin found his husband huddling in the farthest corner of the dinette, feet pulled up to his chest, arms wrapped up to protecting his head.

Bilbo was dead silent, not a single tone escaped him, yet he was shivering like a leaf, and after a moment or two Thorin was sure that his lover was whimpering in fear, albeit quietly. Wrestling away the sturdy table, a noise that seemed to distress his husband even more, Thorin kneeled beside the bench, putting an arm around his hobbit.

“What is it, Bilbo? What happened?” Thorin was entirely at loss what to do, since nothing appeared to be in disorder – apart from Bilbo himself – nor had (to his knowledge) anything out of the ordinary happened. True, the storm was howling outside, but with the sturdy shutters the wind wouldn’t invade their quarters or damage anything.

Bilbo’s voice was nothing more than a huddled whimper, making his hobbit sound even younger than he was. “It’s going to freeze. The river is going to freeze again and the wolves will return. I can’t bear that. Not again. Make it go away. Please, please make it go away!”

Thorin sat back, pulling Bilbo onto his lap, enveloping him in a shielding embrace. Lost for words, the dwarf tried to calm his husband who sounded like a fearful child, rocking him slightly in his arms. At least until Bilbo flinched again, when the wind howled around the mountain again.

Trembling in distress, seemingly huddling tighter into himself, Bilbo whispered again and again, “I can’t bear it. Mum and dad are dead already. I can’t have wolves take another member of my family. We have to find a place to be safe!”

 

Finally understanding dawned in Thorin. His husband was trapped in the memories of Fell Winter where he had lost his parents. It had been cold and the Brandywine River had frozen solid so that wolves had been able to invade the Shire. Starving and aggressive beyond compare, they had attacked everybody within reach. An invasion his father could have prevented, had he only sent his guards.

Tempted to curse the stubbornness and pride of his family, Thorin forced himself to concentrate on the here and now, deciding that it was not the time to get overly emotional about something he couldn’t change. What he could change however, was their location, so that Bilbo would be as shielded from the weather as possible.

If the snow and the storm were scaring him out of his mind, Thorin would find a place where he couldn’t even hear them. Picking up his hobbit, the prince left the kitchen and entered his own rooms. Luckily Tamon was there, prepared to help him out of his regal attire before retreating for the night.

Hugging his husband close, Thorin asked, “We are having slight problems with the weather. Could you think of a room where we could sleep that is further on the inside of our realm?”

Pondering over the question, Tamon shook his head after a moment. “The royal guest rooms are neither aired nor warm. I am afraid they would be rather uncomfortable for Your Royal Highnesses. But if it is only the weather that irritates our young Master Hobbit, why don’t you impose on your nephews, my Lord?”

Deciding that this was the perfect solution – Fíli and Kíli surely wouldn’t hesitate to offer shelter to a distressed Bilbo – Thorin reached for the quilt on his bed and followed Tamon who had opened the door for him. Wordlessly the servant offered Kíli’s bedroom on the inside of the mountain, and swiftly coaxed a fire to life. With a promise to return with dinner Tamon retreated.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

Oblivious to the new occupants of Kíli’s quarters, the two princes made their way to the abandoned chambers at the top of the mountain. They were aware that these rooms were too small for any sensible use, so they hadn’t bothered with them for the last decade.

Now, however, after living in the Shire for an entire season, they were able to see these caverns in a different light, and not only because the last shred of daylight was slowly dying. The rooms were smaller, lower than the royal ones, with more of a hole-like quality to them. Sometimes they even had to duck through a passage to reach the next cavern.

All in all, the rooms were in a good condition; no loose rock and no water seeping through the stone. There were about half a dozen caverns altogether, connected with more or less wide passageways. The biggest room, which presumably sat directly above Bilbo’s kitchen, had a slight outlet, not big enough to disturb the structure, but wide enough for the two dwarrows to peek out, maybe even crawl through to explore the outside of the mountain when no storm was raging.

What they saw out there made them startle. Though it was nearly dark, they could make out a wide terrace. A terrace at the top of the mountains? Who had ever heard of something like that? Fíli and Kíli shared a glance, thinking exactly alike.

“If it is stable, there could be a door.”

“If it is stable there could be bigger rooms and taller passages.”

“Passages where you don’t need to duck through.”

“The rooms could be painted white, supported with wooden beams and furnished comfortably, with fireplaces to keep them warm.”

“If we are directly above Bilbo’s kitchen it should be possible to access the plumbing with little effort.”

“But we need to make him a door. Two doors in fact.”

“We know how to do that! And Master Sviur allowed us to use his workshop before when we made the base for the harrow. If we told him what we need and why, maybe he would even help us. At least he would allow us into his workshop, we could make doors after it is closed.

Showing the most brilliant grins, Fíli and Kíli decided, “We will return tomorrow.”

“And the day after that.”

“And the day after that!”

Leaving the too small, too low and altogether far too unobtrusive chambers, Fíli and Kíli were nearly bouncing with joy.

Excitedly Kíli asked, “Do you think we should tell him?”

Pondering on the question for a moment, Fíli shook his head in the end. “No, let’s make it a surprise. If we are fast enough we could have everything ready for the beginning of the summer. But we would need help, and we have to talk to grandfather.”

That however dampened the dwarrows’ mood. Their relationship with the king had greatly improved after their return from the Shire, yet they were still somewhat reluctant to approach him with personal matters.

After several moments Kíli decided quietly, “It is for Bilbo. Surely he will listen. He likes him, he even offered grandmother’s beads as a birthday present.”

Nodding encouragingly, Fíli put an arm around his brother and pulled him close. Rubbing their foreheads together the blond dwarf whispered, “We will make him happy again. And the others will help, I am sure of it.”

Burying himself in his brother’s embrace, Kíli nodded. “This is his new home. He deserves to be happy here.”

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

Feeling the need to make sure that their favourite hobbit was alright again, Fíli and Kíli knocked on Bilbo’s door. When nobody answered they dared to peek in, surprised to find his rooms empty.

The same went for Thorin’s, and for a moment they looked at each other questioningly until they saw Tamon bowed to the young princes and explained with a tray laden with food.

The servant instantly approached the young princes, explaining, “Master Baggins didn’t feel well. The weather frightened him and when my Lord requested different sleeping arrangements, I took the liberty of offering your room, Master Kíli. You barely use it for sleeping anyway, if I am allowed to say that.”

“He’s sleeping in my room … but why?” Kíli asked. Not that he was angry at Bilbo and Thorin taking over his room, he approved of that wholeheartedly, but, “Why would they prefer my room over uncle Thorin’s or Bilbo’s?”

With a smile Tamon gestured towards the door. “Your rooms are on the inner circle. They don’t have outlets into the open, short of the fireplace, so the weather is less noticeable there.”

Grinning at their chance to be hosts for once, Fíli stated, “Then we should dash to the kitchen so we can share dinner with our guests.”

Coughing discreetly, Tamon stated, “If Your Royal Highnesses were inclined to clean yourselves, I have brought enough food for you to join my Lord and Master Baggins for dinner.”

Smiling brilliantly, Kíli stated, “Tamon, you are a gem,” before dashing towards Fíli’s room to wash and change.

Shaking his head at the young princes, the servant chuckled, “A diamond surely, you have to be strong to keep up with the lot of you.”

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

As soon as the noises of the storm had quieted down, Bilbo had collected himself again and now sat on a fur rug in front of the fire in Kíli’s room. Though he was embarrassed by his lack of composure and having imposed on Kíli for the night, he couldn’t bring himself to return to their quarters. Although Thorin had quickly collected new clothes so that they could change after a strenuous day, he had felt the shivers crawling up his spine when he had heard the howling wind even through the door.

The cold and the wind brought back too many bad memories today. Maybe the talk with Nori had contributed to that: thinking about protecting his new family inevitably brought up the awareness that he had been unable to do so with his parents. And when the wind had howled and Bilbo had felt an icy draft with the promise of snow in his kitchen, the nightmares of the Fell Winter had resurfaced, sending him straight into a panic. Now he huddled in his dressing grown, pulling his legs up to his chest, staring into the flames.

 

Relieved that his husband had retreated from the edge of panic, Thorin had seen to Bilbo’s comfort with his favourite clothes for the evening. Currently he was debating with himself if he should look for his nephews. Bilbo had shared his fear about losing another member of his family. Surely Fíli and Kíli around him would help set his mind at ease.

But would the hobbit want that? For Fíli and Kíli to see him so distressed? In the Shire Bilbo had made it clear in abundance that he wished for the topic of Fell Winter to remain unmentioned. Now it had come up and Thorin was not sure how to handle it.

A knock on the door told him that Tamon was back with dinner and the door to the bathroom opening spared Thorin another thought whether he should call for Fíli and Kíli, since both entered, bringing a small table with them so that they could dine together.

Over the years all suitable furniture had found their way into Fíli’s room, as that was the chamber the two princes inhabited most of the time. Now they put down the table beside the coffee table, covering it with white linen so that Tamon could serve dinner. The servant approved of their efforts with a content nod, offering hot tea to the princes, to Thorin and finally to Bilbo, after adding a healthy dose of sugar for the hobbit.

Yet the royal consort only spared him an absent-minded smile. After exchanging a worried look with his master, Tamon retreated.

Unsure of how to proceed, Thorin was amazed when Fíli and Kíli didn’t seem to share his worries. After taking a sip from their tea, they started to distribute the food, urging Bilbo with a mere nudge to turn around and join them for the meal.

Kíli shifted a little to the right and patted the place between himself and Bilbo invitingly, which finally roused Thorin from his frozen state and made him sit down beside his husband, as was obviously expected from him. The heir of Thráin had always thought that he needed to find the right words in any given situation, especially with his hobbit who valued them so much. Yet his nephews showed him that Bilbo was as easily persuaded with actions as with words.

Fíli made sure that his cup was never empty and Kíli nudged Thorin to shift closer to his husband, so that they were in full body contact.

When the spouses were arranged to their liking, Fíli and Kíli started to talk, between taking bites from their meal, and wordlessly encouraging Bilbo to do the same. It was Kíli who started to explain what he had discovered due to the hobbit’s request.

“I was up there, you know. But there is really nothing for you to worry about. Nothing but empty caverns and narrow passages.”

“Some of the passages are even so small that we had to duck through.” Fíli continued. “Once I was even worried that Kíli’s hair would tangle in a crack in the wall. I feared that we would have to cut it off to get him out!”

Scandalized, Kíli corrected his brother, “I was never stuck! I know my way through stone, thank you very much.”

Fíli smirked. “I pulled your hair away before it got the chance to get stuck. You know that wouldn’t have been necessary if you would allow me to put some proper braids on you instead of the two whimsy ones you wear!”

“There is NOTHING wrong with my braids! Go on, Bilbo, tell him they are perfectly fine!” It was a bold move, but somehow they had to get a reaction out of their hobbit, telling them that he was still with them.

Looking up from his meal, Bilbo offered a half-smile and pondered, “I don’t know, we could maybe make your braids thicker to tame more of your hair.”

Relieved at the interaction, Kíli stuck out his tongue at his brother, “See, my braids are perfect!”

Laughing in disbelief, Fíli corrected Kíli. “He just said that they should be thicker. So they are far from perfect, little brother!”

It was an old banter between Kíli and the rest of his family, and not only Thorin and Fíli but also Bilbo knew that. Still the hobbit relaxed little by little through the ongoing discussion, no matter how futile or how familiar it was.

Thorin could only pull his lover close, hiding his face in the hobbit’s hair. Once again he was amazed by the easygoing attitude of his nephews, an attitude that was exactly what was needed in this dire situation. Not for the first time since their return form the Shire, Thorin asked himself if Fíli and Kíli were not more mature than their whole family gave them credit for.

Maybe it was time for them to pick up their duties as royal heirs. On the other hand, they hadn’t had an easy life until now. So Thorin wanted to give them as much time as possible to enjoy these carefree years before their duties inevitably weighed them down.

 

When dinner was put away, all three sat before the fireplace, huddled together, sharing a pipe. Usually Bilbo would scold them for smoking in the bedchamber but tonight he needed the calming tobacco. After a little while Fíli asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Sighing tiredly, Bilbo shook his head. “There is no use. Fell Winter is over. My parents are dead. I know that something like that will never happen again. Not only because I am learning to defend all of you, but also because you are warriors who can hold their ground against simple wolves. But the thought of something like that repeating itself will always be something that worries me.”

After a little while Thorin suggested, “Maybe we can persuade my father to send a few dwarrows into the Shire over the winter. You know … just in case. I know that the river freezing solid is not a likely occurrence, but with dwarrows being there already, we could react faster, should our help be needed.”

Bilbo snickered slightly. “So if you were the payment for the hobbits’ food, I am the compensation for the dwarrows’ support during the winter?”

“Bilbo, no, … that’s not what I meant.” Thorin instantly interrupted his hobbit, not wanting him to feel like a payment for needed help. He knew that feeling all too well and Bilbo shouldn’t share it.

Yet his husband surprised him by turning towards him. “Why not? If the hobbits of the Shire get help for my being here, it’s alright, isn’t it? Though I doubt that your father will send anybody, he was unwilling before when we asked for it. So why should he send somebody, when there is no real reason for it, now?”

All of the Durins flinched at that accusation, even though they were aware that Bilbo’s words were not meant as such. There was not a one among them who didn’t regret with all of his heart what had happened two winters ago, who did not wish that he himself had picked up his weapons and travelled the expanse between their settlements, be it only to save a single hobbit from the dreadful wolves.

It was Kíli who couldn’t keep himself in check. Curling up beside Bilbo, putting his head in the hobbit’s lap, he whispered, “Let us try, Bilbo. Please let us try, so that something like that won’t happen again.”

Bilbo didn’t have the heart to ask what Kíli meant with ‘that’. He merely trailed his fingers though the dark tresses, calming the agitated dwarf.

Fíli only shared a heart-wrenching look with his uncle before Thorin pulled him in, kissing his head soothingly, promising in a low voice, “I will talk to father tomorrow. I’ll see what we can do.”

 

Looking up at his husband who sat behind him, Bilbo nodded gratefully and kissed him tenderly, before nudging Kíli to rise. “It’s late and it was an exhausting day for all of us. Let’s go to bed.”

All four males made use of the bathroom that mirrored the one of Bilbo and Thorin’s rooms and neither Bilbo nor Thorin were surprised when, after they had made themselves at home in Kíli’s bed, Fíli and Kíli once again entered the chamber.

Without a single word, both spouses lifted the edges of the quilt so that the young dwarrows could join them. As before, Kíli nested next to Bilbo and Fíli plastered himself to Thorin’s back. When a little rearranging and shifting resulted in Kíli nearly falling out of the bed, they couldn’t help but laugh. Kíli’s bed was considerably smaller than Thorin’s and it took some planning to make room for all of them.

Luckily it was long enough and once Bilbo and Thorin had found a comfortable position at the top, their nephews arranged themselves around their ‘guests’ legs, laying their heads on their bellies.

When Bilbo suggested, “Maybe we should …,” he was instantly interrupted by the Durins who decided in one voice, “No!”

They wouldn’t change bed, not even if Thorin’s would be much more comfortable. Not when the room where the said bed stood had outlets where the cold wind and snow could blow into the chamber, bringing forth Bilbo’s fears once again. All of them would rather deal with the uncomfortable sleeping arrangements than see their favourite hobbit getting scared again.

When after a little while everybody had settled into a comfortable position, Bilbo slowly trailed his fingers to their hair, one after the other, finally whispering in a low voice, “Thank you,” before succumbing to a restful sleep.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 


	33. Different approaches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Different approaches, both for fighting and ... bathes ;).

The next morning Bilbo felt considerably better. He berated himself inwardly for his panic attack. Yet Fíli and Kíli joking about their ‘camping’ together, like they had on their way here, made it hard for him to stay annoyed with himself for too long.

He prepared a nice breakfast to make up for Thorin and him imposing on the boys, whereupon Kíli simply stated, “Oh, I wouldn’t mind you coming over to sleep in my room once or twice a week.” Obviously he enjoyed their hobbit making breakfast for them again.

Though Bombur was without the slightest doubt a brilliant chef, all Durins seemed to favour Bilbo’s kitchen over any other. Not that the hobbit was not flattered. Still, he shoved them all out of his door and towards second breakfast in the dining hall after an hour. They were all full but still wanted to enjoy the little time they had with their newfound friends from the summer before everybody went to see to his respective duties.

Bilbo’s studies with Master Kiron were as interesting as ever, especially now that the dwarf had relocated their lessons to the library, showing Bilbo how to navigate the transcripts of dwarven lore. Truly, there were so many volumes on the subject that the hobbit could get lost in them.

 

The first dampener on Bilbo’s mood was, as always, the fighting lesson with Nori. The hobbit was aware that the dwarf did his very best to make his lessons as easy as possible from him, but hobbits simply were not cut out for fighting. Though he excelled at hitting the training dummies with the conkers they had collected, and more often than not even with the small throwing knives Nori was willing to lend him for the duration of their training, as soon as it came to fighting with the dagger, Bilbo simply couldn’t find his footing. The forms Nori provided were easy enough to follow. Theoretically. Yet as soon as Bilbo was unable to think about what he had to do next and simply had to react, he lost himself in a tangle of limbs and sharp blades. Yet he clenched his teeth and pushed through the training lesson, willing to comply with Nori’s demands as much as possible when the dwarf had already given in so much to make things easy for him.

After all, Bilbo was fighting with a dagger instead of one of the bigger weapons dwarrows usually preferred. He was given throwing weapons. Nori had even collected conkers for him. Bilbo could see his friend’s desire to help, but he simply was not able to live up to Nori’s expectations. And the less successful he was, the tenser Nori seemed to be.

Not that his appearance or his attitude showed that. His trainer was always the perfect picture of serenity when instructing him, no matter how often Bilbo went adrift. Yet there was something in Nori’s eyes that told Bilbo that the dwarf was worried and that it made a difference for him if Bilbo failed or succeeded.

So the hobbit mustered a tired smile when they finally called it a day and reached for Nori’s shoulder. For the briefest of moments he could feel the dwarf flinch back, but when he didn’t step out of Bilbo’s reach, the hobbit touched their foreheads fondly. “Thank you, Master Nori. I will try to use my free time for training, I promise.”

Approving of that plan, Nori guided Bilbo out of the training grounds, so that the hobbit could return to his quarters, freshen up and change before heading towards Dori. Once the royal consort was out of sight, Nori melted into the shadows, cautiously touching his forehead where Bilbo’s had met his.

Nobody but his brothers touched him that way. True, Ori was quite open with is affections, admiring Nori and Dori in equal measures, and was always eager to show it when they were in private. True too, Dori hugged his younger brothers and showered them with all the affections he could muster, since he tried to make up for their lost parents. Yet with Bilbo it somehow felt different. The hobbit was not a member of Nori’s family and his touch was easy and affectionate with nothing behind it, no ulterior motive or hidden plan, and Nori enjoyed that, more than he was willing to admit, even to himself.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

During his time in Dori’s kitchen, Bilbo vented his pent-up frustration on a large patch of cookie dough. Maybe Dori was making it too soft? It was easier to knead now than it had been a few weeks ago. He should recheck the recipe, not wanting the silver-haired dwarf to lose his provisions by preparing cookies that would not firm up after baking. He could always use the baked dough that did not come out as expected for rum-balls, but the cookies were better. Maybe Bilbo should suggest an alternative for leftovers, though he had yet to come across any. Obviously, Dori’s teashop gained popularity by the day.

Bilbo suspected, though, that the time when he was working in the kitchen was a rush hour for the dwarf. Most likely the inhabitants of the Blue Mountains were more interested in gawking at the royal consort who was working there than admiring the baked goods.

Was that undignified for a dwarf, to show such open curiosity? Not that Bilbo really cared, even when he could feel constant glances at his back. He enjoyed his time with Dori and would not give it up even if it was an ‘undwarvish’ thing to do. He was a hobbit anyway.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

In high spirits Bilbo nicked a few cookies that were slightly burned at the edges (with Dori’s permission of course) and set off towards the hidden valley. He did plan on using the little free time he had before tea for training, but he didn’t want anybody to witness his clumsy attempts. The raven valley was the perfect hiding place, since he doubted that Vár or her flock would mock him, at least not in the presence of other dwarrows.

Bilbo felt sufficiently warmed up when reaching the valley in a slow jog and spread out his treats, before taking up the fighting stance Nori had shown him, to go through the predetermined movements the dwarf had taught him. Theoretically he should be able to move and parry about three quarters of all attacks if he internalized these movements. Yet the thought of going ‘for the kill’ always made him slow down when he engaged in an aggressive motion.

Frustrated with himself, Bilbo finally let go and cursed his inability to learn what was expected of him. Letting his anger get the best of him, the hobbit hit innocent patches of earth and tall grass, before sinking to the ground and looking up into the sky, desperate for a solution that would make him the fighter they all expected him to be. He tiredly closed his eyes: looking straight into the sun wouldn’t help his thoughts.

He only looked up when, soon after he had finished his tantrum, he felt a heavy weight settling on his chest. When he looked up he saw the matriarch of the bird colony eyeballing him and he could have sworn that the damn bird was grinning.

Turning her head from side to side – Bilbo was worried for a moment that it might fall off any moment – she asked, “You croaking again?”

Trying to rise into a semi upright position, something the big bird didn’t make easy as she would only hop back until she sat on his knees but didn’t leave him entirely, Bilbo tried to save the last of his dignity by stating, “I was not croaking. I have had a very difficult … ah … time, and have the right to be frustrated about it. I was merely stating my irritation, thank you very much.”

Was she laughing? Was that silly bird laughing at him? Her croaking certainly sounded like that before she demanded, “Fun for the hatchlings. Do it again!”

Puffing up in irritation and then deflating again, for it was really no use to getting worked up over a bird when he had far more substantial problems, Bilbo defended himself, “My problems are not to be made fun of! I am expected to fight and I’ll have you know that while we hobbits have a great many qualities, fighting is not one of them.”

“Planting carrots and trees; not trampling grass; friendly to ravens! Hobbits good.”

The hobbit was quite sure that it was not in the nature of a bird to be supportive. The raveness merely spoke as she saw, but still it made Bilbo smile when comparing his possible achievements over his shortcomings.

“You fight high?”

“Pardon me?”

“Your little knife. You aim high! You fight birds?”

Finally comprehending where this was going, Bilbo shook his head. “No, I am not going to fight birds, don’t worry, Vár. It’s just … Nori tries to teach me how to fight dwarrows and they are usually taller than me. Nearly everything out here is taller than me. So I have to learn to attack accordingly.”

The bird started to groom her feathers, bringing them all in line, and bristled when a particularly resilient flight feather wouldn’t be eased into submission.

Bilbo smiled at her unsuccessful tries and reached out to align it with the others. For a moment, her beak came dangerously close to his fingers, yet when all of her feathers were in order, she merely nibbled on them as a sign of affection.

After sitting together, enjoying the sun for a while, Vár stated, “You’re wrong.”

“Pardon me?” Slowly but surely Bilbo felt like one of these talking birds that repeated only one sentence over and over again. But honestly, Vár’s words made little sense half of the time.

Seemingly annoyed, the bird fluffed herself up and stated, like a teacher about to give a lesson, “We birds. We are small. We don’t attack from ground. That’s stupid.”

Laughing and shaking his head, Bilbo reminded her, “I’m afraid flying is out of the question for me, Mistress. I’m a hobbit after all, we are earthbound, that’s not a choice.”

“You chose attacking wrong!”

“How so?”

“We fly above enemies. We hit them where it hurts most. We make them stop, hesitate. We fly away! That’s our way. You can’t fight like bird, you are hobbit. But you try to fight like dwarf. But you are a hobbit! You chose attacking wrong. Attack like hobbit. Attack where you are: close to earth. You want to protect your flock?”

When Bilbo merely nodded, she ordered, “Attack what hurts the most and your flock can get away.”

“… Attack where it hurts the most …” Bilbo repeated, lost in thought, and all of a sudden a brilliant smile spread across his face. Their bodies, their lives were not the things dwarrows cherished the most. Maybe Vár was right, maybe Bilbo had approached this whole situation from the wrong angle. He was small and he was sneaky and he was fast. It was high time that he put those skills to a good use.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

Weeks passed and not only did Bilbo’s lessons with Nori improve a great deal – he was much less hesitant now that he knew where he would be aiming in the end – so he didn’t have problems any longer to ‘go for the kill’ so to speak. Also his relationship with Nori improved a great deal because the dwarf now seemed far more relaxed around him and even joined him regularly for lunch at his brother’s.

His studies of the ‘private’ book he had been given by Balin on his wedding day also came around nicely. Bilbo was smart and even though he knew that he would never, ever be able to pick up all the subtleties of the complex language, in the hobbit’s mind it helped a great deal that he could read it. Understanding would come later. With Sindarin it had been easier, for Elrond and his children had helped him along. In the Blue Mountains he would have to find a different way.

Dís was the one that actually suggested for Bilbo to join a few of the dwarflings’ classes, with the approval of the council of course, as allowing the royal consort to listen in on their first lessons was really no problem, when he didn’t know the language anyway. The classes for the dwarflings were held in Westron after all and it was good that the royal consort showed interest in the young dwarrows’ education. So Bilbo learned the pronunciation of the most basic runes and was soon able to understand simple words. It was not much but it was a beginning.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

At the beginning of Foreyule the whole mountain was buzzing with activities. For the first time in years there would be a feast – sponsored by the royal family of course – on the second day of Yule. The first day of that celebration would traditionally be domestic, where all dwarrows joined their family and closest friends. Bilbo whole-heartedly approved of this tradition, having prepared little presents for his family and friends whenever he had been able to make time during this last month.

He had visited Master Andvari thrice ever since inspecting the mines for the first time and had gotten his help acquiring crystals for his family. He was aware that nowhere in these mountains wind-chimes could be found. Yet when hung above a candle or over an open fire, they made delicate but lovely sounds and would sparkle, much to his dwarrows’ delight, or so he hoped.

The Master of Mines had suggested several types of precious stones, yet Bilbo had put his foot down when the dwarf had offered rubies, emeralds and sapphires for the members of the royal family. Bilbo thought these gems too valuable. Yule presents were supposed to be thoughtful and fitting, precious because of the effort one put into them, not because of the value of the base materials. He was aware that his dwarrows most likely would not enjoy wood-carvings as much as the average hobbit, so Bilbo had thought of a present that could be made of gems. But there would be crystals and not jewels, thank you very much.

So Bilbo acquired deep-blue stones for Thráin, for no other colour would suit the patriarch of the Durin family, and hung them from a frame shaped in the base form of a diamond.

Semi-precious stones of the most luscious red were dangling from a never-ending loop for Dís, since Bilbo would never forget the fire burning in her eyes when she had thought him abusing her family.

Fíli and Kíli got a wide wind-chime, two spirals woven together, decorated with drops in all the colours of the rainbow. And Thorin … well, Thorin’s was easiest.

His husband would get a wind-chime in the base shape of a heart, decorated with the clearest crystals, carved into the shape of a round door, a torchlight, a bunch of grapes, a half moon and lots and lots of flowers. True, Bilbo had had to ask Bofur for help, since the dwarf was very skilled with small engravings and shaping crystals.

But the hobbit had done a great job with the other presents for his family on his own, so he didn’t beat himself up about asking for help for Thorin’s, especially not when Bofur seemed overjoyed to be of service. Thorin’s present simply _had_ to be perfect.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

When the days of the celebration drew nearer Bilbo gave up all lessons in favour of helping Bombur in the kitchen. More than once did members of the kitchen staff and the royal consort clash, as Bilbo was seasoning the meat this way and not that way, or he was glazing a ham with honey, when there should have been herbs, and why pray Mahal, would the Bilbo put pure cinnamon sticks into their cookie dough when it only had to sit and rest?

Bombur seemed highly amused by the tantrums of his fellow workers, as nobody dared to question Bilbo openly, everybody was just hinting and making suggestions. Anything else would be disrespectful towards a member of the royal family. Yet they had to vent somewhere, so the pantries were fuller than they were supposed to be, though not with food but with dwarrows. Bilbo however seemed perfectly oblivious to the commotion he was causing, seasoning his stew and meat-pies, kneading through the dough as he always did when spreading cinnamon aroma and cooking more honey to glace the ham.

 

Two days before the Yule festival, Bombur and Bilbo were sitting in a more or less empty kitchen, sharing a delicious glass of wine after fourteen hours of baking and cooking and finally the Chef of the Blue Mountains addressed the subject. “You know you are disturbing the peace of my kitchen, Master Baggins?”

Grinning, offering him another (slightly burned) shortbread that would not go on the table, Bilbo merely smiled, “Of course I do, Master Bombur. But have you never thought that your people may be in need of a good disturbance now and then? Everything was running so smoothly it was rather boring. Cooking and baking should be exciting, especially when you do it for a great party.”

Shaking his head, laughing, Bombur admitted, “Maybe they do. It’s just … they are finally getting used to not being scared of starving and you are using all your hobbit recipes in a dwarven kitchen. It worries them, Bilbo.”

“Then why don’t you explain it to them? You have eaten my glazed ham in the Shire and you know that cinnamon is brilliant in cookies. It’s just too expensive for everyday use.”

“I was hoping they would ask you. Get to know you better, you know? They all have this idea of you being this magical creature, bringing so much food and yet not having your people starve for it. You are like a gift from Mahal to them and I’m afraid they are worried that you will just vanish if they question you. I shared that thought, that evening when we first met, remember?

“I too was worried that you would not like what I was making and forbid me to use your pantry and kitchen. That would have been rather horrible for me, since for the first time in years I could simply cook again in your smial, without worrying about anything else. It seemed like a dream to me too during that first time and I was worried that you might just be a figment of my imagination, offering me everything I could dream of, only to vanish in the next moment.”

Grinning mischievously, Bilbo raised his glass and spoke at it, seemingly lost in thought. “Well, in that case I have two more days to prove to them that I am real. Maybe one of your people will pick up the courage to confront me. If not … well, then they will have to wait to taste the ham, won’t they? That surely will prove to them that I am very real and a formidable cook, for we hobbits know our food.”

Tipping their glasses, Bombur ducked his head to hide his impish smile, before setting back into a comfortable silence with his hobbit friend. His staff would learn to trust in the hobbit’s abilities to handle their food. On the second day of the Yule festival the latest. He had done so too and more easily than he could have imagined upon his first arrival at Bag End.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

On the last day before the high days, the tailor requested a visit from the royal consort, presenting him with the most beautiful embroidered coat that would beautifully accent a shining white shirt the dressmakers of the mountains had designed for the royal consort. Every tailor, even the apprentice, had been allowed some input, and Bilbo thought the result truly magnificent when he tried it on in front of a mirror.

The Master explained that the cufflinks had been made by their apprentice, clear crystal that matched the adornments of the coat itself. They were adorned with deep blue stones, carved in leaf shapes. The nearly silver-shimmering shirt with wide, fluffy sleeves had been created by the only female sewer in the workshop and though that was not something Bilbo would have ever chosen for himself, the slightly bulky cut suited him, especially with the crystal-embroidered coat that highlighted the ensemble.

Light grey trousers of a similar cloth peeked out from underneath the long coat and Bilbo had to admit that while he looked a little strange without a waistcoat and a scarf, he still liked the design since it was not too heavy and he could move easily in it. His forehead creased, however, when the dwarf who had made the trousers for him informed him that they had tightened the waist a good inch, since suspenders would really not go with the ensemble.

For the first time since coming here, Bilbo turned from side to side in front of the mirror, inspecting his midsection critically. The hobbit had to admit that he truly did not like what he saw.

But he pushed these disturbing thoughts aside, thanking the master tailor and his staff wholeheartedly for providing him with such beautiful clothes for the celebration. He even made a mental note to bake some cookies for them today and send them in the evening. It simply wouldn’t do to accept this gift without offering anything in return.

 

The next day was spent in his little kitchen with Bilbo ordering Thorin, as well as Dís and the boys, to clean venison, sieve flour and clean vegetables for the Yule dinner.

Around five even Thráin joined his family, having finally seen to all of his kingly duties, and together with Thorin they carried the wide kitchen-table into the main room, collecting chairs from all of their rooms so that they would not have to sit in armchairs and only get their noses on the top of the table.

When everything was set and ready, all Durins returned to their quarters to prepare themselves for the best part of the evening. Bilbo had acquired several coloured candles and put up bowls with the most delicious herbs all over his rooms to spread a warm and homely scent.

 

Bilbo blessed the Green Lady wordlessly when he heard when he heard Thorin preparing a bath for them: inhaling the lavender scent made him relax like nothing else. He stuffed his sweaty and dirty clothes into the hamper and sank into the hot water with a groan, closing his eyes in bliss.

He nearly submerged, when all of a sudden he felt Thorin’s hands on his feet. Thorin had endured Bilbo’s little kink, yet had never reciprocated before, when the hobbit had relaxed him by means of a foot massage.

Now he was trailing his fingers through the curls on Bilbo’s feet, first a little tentatively but when Bilbo groaned happily, he applied more pressure to the leathery soles. Yet after a few moments Bilbo pulled back, looking somehow flustered.

Worried that he had done something wrong, Thorin asked, “Bilbo? Did I hurt you?” He had purposefully applied more pressure than seemed wise since Bilbo’s feet were much sturdier than his.

Therefore he was surprised when Bilbo only coughed and avoided his gaze. “No … um … everything is alright. Thank you.”

Studying his husband calculatingly, Thorin realized that Bilbo was angling his body strangely, as if he tried to hide something, his groin to be exact. The dwarf had found relaxation, sometimes even slight pleasure from the attention paid to his feet. Bilbo’s body seemed … even more interested.

With a mischievous grin, Thorin reached for Bilbo’s foot again, slowly pulling it up, despite his hobbit’s reluctance, rubbing over the inside seam before placing the tenderest kiss on the soft flesh between the curly top and the leathery sole. Bilbo’s hiss was all he needed to confirm his theory that his husband truly did like his attention more than expected, and so he concentrated there.

 

Aware that he might make things even harder for himself later on, Thorin sank into the tub until he was kneeling before from his husband, returning his undivided attention to Bilbo’s limbs.

Wasn’t it a beautiful sight to behold, when Bilbo hectically reached for the edge, to keep himself from sinking into the water, putting his beautiful, steel hard cock on display in the process when Thorin brushed with deft fingers over his foot?

The view was intoxicating, so Thorin lost all his resolution to make this encounter only relaxing, whispering hoarsely, “Touch yourself, Bilbo. Show me how much you enjoy this.”

 

In the dim light of their bathroom Bilbo’s eyes looked black as the night, his pupils swallowing his hazel irises whole. He arched his back when Thorin returned his attention to his feet, resuming the massage he had started earlier. And now that Bilbo had given up all pretence that this was not affecting him, he groaned blissfully at the contact.

Locking his eyes with his husband’s, the hobbit slowly reached for his hard cock. Thorin felt his mouth going dry when the gorgeous organ vanished and emerged from between Bilbo’s slippery fingers. He felt the overwhelming urge to reach for it and swallow it whole. But that was not what he had planned at the beginning of this evening.

So he concentrated on making Bilbo feel good in the most unexpected way possible and revelled in every hiss and every groan he was able to elicit, especially when he teased Bilbo with his lips and the rasps of his beard over the sensitive arch of the hobbit’s foot.

The more his hobbit lost himself in his pleasure, letting himself go, the bolder Thorin got. When he saw Bilbo approaching his peak he whispered daringly, “Not yet. Slow down, âzyungâl. We’re not there yet.”

Thorin swallowed nervously at his own boldness, especially when Bilbo’s eyes bored into his as if they wanted to delve into his very soul.

Still, with a strangled groan his hobbit followed the demand, slowed his motions, teetering at the edge of his orgasm, all the while fixating on Thorin, who was showering his feet with the uttermost attention.

Only when the hobbit clenched his teeth, gripping the base of his cock to stave off his imminent peak, did Thorin go in for the kill, so to speak, and swallowed his hobbit’s erection whole.

And suddenly all Bilbo could see was blazing white, exploding behind his eyelids, igniting his whole body with the power of dragon fire.

Later on Bilbo would deny to his dying breath that he had shouted himself hoarse when Thorin pleasured him through a climax that crashed over him like a tidal wave, swallowing Bilbo again and again, leaving him a shaking and incoherent mess sinking into the steaming water.

Only thanks to Thorin’s strong arms did Bilbo not drown that very moment.

 

When the hobbit came around, he found himself on Thorin’s lap, with his husband looking very much like a cat that had got the cream. Pun fully intended here.

Bilbo wanted to say something to admire Thorin’s skill, yet his usually so cunning mind drew blank, when he searched for words.

His husband however seemed to understand him nevertheless, since he smilingly kissed his forehead, whispering adoringly, “You are welcome. Had I known that a foot massage would do this to you, I would have started in the Shire.”

Thinking about evenings in front of the fire in Bag End, or sitting in the back garden, surrounded by their friends, Bilbo blushed to the tip of his pointy ears, whispering hoarsely, “Bless the Green Lady and everything she touches, that you didn’t.”

Chuckling contently, Thorin nudged Bilbo out of the tub and took special care helping his hobbit redo his braids and dress.

That he did all that only in his smalls, feeling his husband’s longing gaze caressing his naked skin all the time, remained unmentioned by both lovers. Their family would be here soon, so it would not do to dally.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 


	34. The First Day of Yule

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 'Christmas' celebration with just the family (and one unexpected guest).

Bilbo looked dishevelled, no matter how often he ran the comb through his curls or the brush over his feet. He blamed Thorin for that, entirely! Their last encounter in the tub had left him breathless. Literally! Yet he could not run around with a satisfied grin all evening. Looking anything but perfectly respectable during his first Yule festival with his new family was out of the question.

He had prepared everything elaborately, from the food in the oven, to the wine he had had breathing for the last hour, right to the decoration of the table. Everything had to be flawless for his dwarrows. He wanted to show them how much he appreciated their support and concern during these last few months. It simply would not do to grin like a cat that had eaten the canary. And oh, how much, how very much he was looking forward to tonight, when he could reciprocate the amazing things his husband had done to him. And his body hair somehow reflected that, standing up, all eager.

Therefore he tried to conjure an image that would dampen his excitement. What to think of???

Aligning the spoons on the linen-covered table, Bilbo started to grin. Oh yes, that thought would help: these were the very spoons Missus Lobelia Sackville-Baggins had tried to nick from him during a visit. At the same day he had demanded back his teacups she had ‘borrowed’ the week before. Bilbo thought about her triumphant grin during their last talk, her eagerness to get her hands on his home … oh yes, that would certainly help to banish all thoughts of his husband, who had … bugger.

Accepting the inevitable, that every time he would glance at Thorin tonight, he would remember their time in the tub, Bilbo decided to give in and go looking for him. Their family would be with them soon and Bilbo wanted to see if he could offer Thorin a helping hand with his wardrobe.

When he entered his dwarf’s quarters, he couldn’t stop the wide smile that lit up his face. His husband was wearing the very shirt Bilbo had had made for him during their first month in the Shire. Together with a pair of black trousers, the dark cloth only enhanced Thorin’s beauty.

 

Feeling soft fingertips ghosting over his hand, taking the waistband from him and fastening it properly, Thorin beamed when he saw the proud look his hobbit was throwing him. He didn’t blush, of course he didn’t blush, princes’ didn’t do such a thing, when he heard Bilbo whisper, “You look unbelievably handsome. I’m lucky that you’re bound to me. For with this ensemble you would be the perfect candidate for all hobbit mothers who are looking for a son-in-law.”

Thorin truly cut an impressing figure in his fine clothes, with only a silver-embroidered sash around his middle; that was why he had chosen them. Just like Bilbo, he had decided on a comfortable rather than formal attire for the evening, and obviously his husband appreciated the gesture.

Turning around to face his husband, Thorin buried his face in Bilbo’s neck, brushing the tenderest kiss over the sensitive skin, whispering alluringly, “Lucky you that you have me at your service. Imagine all the commotion if you had to defend your position as my spouse.”

Bilbo angled Thorin’s head so that he could look right into his dwarf’s eyes, before administer a demanding kiss on his husband, until both where gasping for air. Thorin already felt shudders running along his spine, enhanced by the gentle fingertips of his hobbit who caressed his back. By Mahal, this would be a straining evening if he already longed for his husband so very much.

Bilbo’s breath ghosting over his ear didn’t really help him calm down, when the hobbit whispered, “No, lucky them, for I would defend my rights as husband most fiercely, no matter who dared to challenge me.”

 

Commotion in the other room finally made the two of them step back from each other. Bilbo could see Thorin’s pupils blown wide and for a moment he nearly regretted having planned this extensive dinner. But then he reminded himself that these were the Yule days, one of the most joyous feasts of the entire year. So he only nipped at his dwarf’s bottom lip one last time, before taking a deep breath to ground himself and returning to his rooms, preparing to face their guests.

 

Thorin groaned when Bilbo left. By Mahal, how was he supposed to survive this evening when a mere kiss was already spreading fire through his veins? He already felt consumed by need. Yet there were a few hours to pass. Still, it would be worth it, so he closed his eyes for a calming breath, before he took a little box from the drawer of his desk and hid it in his trouser pocket. Then he followed Bilbo to join their family.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

The dinner was an overwhelming success.

Thráin entered first. He too was dressed only in a sleeveless coat over the basics. Still he managed to cut an impressive figure with his rich clothes and the salt-and-pepper hair flowing over his shoulders. Bilbo felt a little intimidated by him, but lost the impression when the king started to struggle with a blanket-covered, wooden construct that he obviously had placed right outside the door.

With Thorin’s help the dwarrows managed to position it at the far side of Bilbo’s living room, careful to keep it hidden under the wide cloth.

Fíli and Kíli were right behind their grandfather. As if the two sneaks had only waited for the moment, they entered as soon as Thráin’s gift had found its designated place.

They too wore only trousers and shirts; like Thorin, the very shirts that Bilbo had presented them with. Fíli wore the sash over a shoulder instead, so that it hid a part of the shirt. Bilbo smiled when he realized that the end of the cloth carefully covered the tear it received during the party he had gotten it for.

Kíli’s outfit matched Thorin’s, only he wore a sash of a dark grey colour that mirrored his trousers. There was only one small embroidery in the middle, making the young prince appear barely dressed up enough to reflect his royal status. But when Bilbo asked about it, the young dwarf merely grazed his fingertips over the flower that was stitched right over his heart, claiming that he hadn’t wanted to draw attention away from what was truly important.

 

As it was expected of a Lady, Dís was the last to arrive. She had had lunch with Dwalin and Balin today celebrating Yule with the family of her lover.

Dís looked absolutely breathtaking. Wearing a dress more silver than blue, that clung to her figure in all the right places and offered a barely respectable view of her assets, she had the dignity to colour slightly when Bilbo took her hand and kissed it, complimenting her. “You look most stunning tonight, my Lady. Dwalin can consider himself a lucky dwarf.”

Even though Thráin tensed up a little at these words, he too could do nothing but offer compliments on his daughter’s appearance, as did Thorin.

Only Fíli and Kíli strategized quietly how they could wrap up their mother so that nobody else would look her way. In their minds, she was showing a scandalizing amount of skin, although her neckline was barely lower than a handwidth.

The Lady Dís just informed her sons casually that her neckline really wasn’t any of their business, and that she could have whoever she wanted looking at her, thank you very much, at which point the two boys whimpered slightly and fled towards the kitchen to help with … whatever needed help, just to get out of their mother’s scrutinizing gaze.

 

Although the dwarrows – especially Dís and Thráin, for they knew very little about Bilbo’s life mission to feed his dwarrows green food – frowned upon the salad that started their meal, they had to admit that it was delicious, especially with the roasted nuts and freshly baked bread that accompanied it.

The next course was a steaming potato-soup with bacon. Just for the heck of it, Bilbo had baked a few hollow loafs of bread to serve the soup in.

The hobbit hadn’t expected the dwarrows to eat the dish, but they wouldn’t allow him to carry them back to the kitchen, insisting that this was the best bread they had ever eaten.

After the soup, Bilbo allowed his guests a few moments of rest, ushering them towards the fire to enjoy a relaxing pipe while preparing the main course. The peas were already soft, having been cooked in the same pot as the venison, and the cranberry jam, the last he had gotten from his grandmother, was already slightly warmed. He had never managed to make his own as good as Adamanta’s, so he had saved the last glass for the Yule dinner.

The potato dumplings however had to be cooked afresh. Bilbo had had a steaming pot of water simmering on the stove, so now he threw in the small dumplings.

The fruit salad, which was supposed to be served as dessert, would have to be prepared from scratch too. Only the biscuits were already set on a tray, cooling in front of the open window. The cheese, which was supposed to close the meal, already adjusted to room temperature, sat on a wide tray, covered by a slightly damp cloth so that it would not dry out completely.

Thinking that the dumplings could simmer on their own, Bilbo decided to join his family in front of the fireplace, pulling forth his pipe as well, while receiving compliments for the first two courses. Enjoying being surrounded by his new family, Bilbo nearly dozed off when the compliments had died down, until he heard clanking from the dinner table.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

Looking over his shoulder, the hobbit was on his feet in an instant, shouting lividly at his newest guest, “GET AWAY FROM THE TABLE! WHAT, BY THE GREEN LADY, ARE YOU THINKING?”

Seemingly unimpressed by the shouting, a big, black bird, merely raised his head, looking at Bilbo scrutinizingly.

Shocked by the outrageous shout, Thráin approached the hobbit cautiously and put his hand on Bilbo’s shoulder. Aiming to ease, he stated quietly, “The ravens never come to the mountain except for official business. Surely Mistress Vár has something important to report.”

Shifting her attention, looking at Thráin for a moment, before returning her attention to Bilbo she demanded, “Presents!”

“What? How?” Gently freeing himself from a dumbstruck king, Bilbo took a deep breath and approached the table. “I have been to your valley THRICE A WEEK this last month. I have brought treats for you and your flock EVERY TIME! And now you have the audacity to invade my living room on the evening of the first day of Yule and demand presents? When I am in the middle of having dinner with my family?”

Seemingly proud that her hobbit friend was catching up so fast, the raveness croaked happily, “Yes.”

Blissfully unaware of his dwarrows staring at him in open shock, Bilbo approached the table, threatening, “If you don’t leave this table this instant, Vár, I am going to get my broom!”

Looking around, judging that neither the silverware nor the decoration was fit for consumption, the bird hopped from the table to the backrest of Bilbo’s chair, watching the hobbit curiously.

Shaking his head at the insolent bird, Bilbo couldn’t supress a snicker when the raveness repeated, “Presents!”

“Alright, I think I have a few nuts left and I will pack up something for your flock. But if you are walking over my table one more time, I will not get you another almond. Ever! Did I make myself clear?”

Seemingly undisturbed by the threat, Vár chose Bilbo’s shoulder for traveling to the kitchen. Having a bird on his shoulder for the first time, Bilbo moved very calmly so as not to startle her. He had already felt her claws digging through his trousers. That was not an experience he desired to repeat with his shoulder, especially not when he only wore a light shirt and a thin waistcoat.

 

Thorin was more than startled, his father and sister downright alarmed, when the tall bird had entered through the window, even more so when Bilbo had started shouting at it. Ravens were to be treated with uttermost respect and servility, otherwise the prideful birds would not deliver letters and the dwarrows needed them for communication with the other clans.

Only Fíli and Kíli seemed completely relaxed, watching the encounter as if this was great entertainment. The older dwarrows slowly got up from their chairs, ready to pull Bilbo back, should the matriarch of the raven flock choose to attack him. Never before had anybody dared to shout at a raven and remained unharmed.

Thráin looked at his grandsons, asking quietly while approaching the kitchen, “She is really just visiting him, without any other motivation? The raveness has chosen to befriend a hobbit?”

“Yes, she likes him. Maybe as one of Yavanna’s children Bilbo can relate easier to her than we can?” Fíli offered his opinion.

They were nearly holding their breath when the bird left with their hobbit, barely believing their own eyes when the raveness landed on Bilbo’s shoulder without harming him. Thorin slowly approached his husband and their latest guest, listening to Bilbo berating the bird once again.

“No, no, no, no, no, no! These are for my guests. You will get others. They are slightly glazed anyway, that’s not good for you.”

Thorin watched the bird croak in dismay, before grooming Bilbo’s copper locks, while the hobbit was cracking several walnuts, collecting them in a small bowl. Both his hobbit and the matriarch of the raven flock seemed completely at ease with each other. Never before had Thorin seen a raven acting that familiarly with anybody, and he had known Vár for about twenty years.

“Bilbo, do you need help?”

Looking around, smiling in relief, Bilbo replied, “Oh, Thorin, yes that would be much appreciated. Could you open these nuts?  I’m afraid Vár will make a right mess of things if I leave her to her own devices. The dumplings are ready, and I don’t want them to overcook.”

“You want me to crack nuts for a raven.” Just to be sure, Thorin confirmed the request. Maybe that was the sole reason the raven had chosen his husband over anybody else. Bilbo was downright spoiling her. Thinking of Ravenhill, a hill separate from the Lonely Mountain, reserved solely for the ravens and their caretakers, Thorin thought for the first time that maybe they had chosen the wrong approach when keeping their distance from the birds.

Nodding empathically, Bilbo offered the satchel and the bowl to Thorin, turning towards the stove to fish the potato dumplings out of the water.

The bird, briefly considering that what the hobbit was handling seemed more interesting, decided otherwise when he saw only white balls emerging from the water. She lifted herself off Bilbo’s shoulder and after another threatening “Vár!” landed on the backrest of the only chair in the kitchen, watching Thorin curiously who was now handling her treats.

 

The hobbit pulled the venison out of the oven and arranged the dumplings neatly around the dark meat. Only then did he remember the entrails he had kept – thinking about visiting his raven friends the next morning – and put the sack on the windowsill. He was not sure if Vár was strong enough to carry them, but was quite sure that she would try after having consumed the nuts.

With a smile, Bilbo entered the main room, surprised when he found dwarrows walking around innocently. For a moment he was puzzled but then he realized that they must have spied on his and Vár’s exchange in his kitchen. Smiling to himself, he asked Thorin to bring along the last chair and cleared a part of the table, right between himself and Kíli, gesturing for Thorin to place the chair and the bowl of nuts right there.

He answered the confused look of his husband with a shrug, “The royalty of birds. That’s what you said. So it seems only fitting that she eats with us. At least as long as she keeps her claws off my table-cloth.”

 

All Durins seemed clearly fascinated by the large bird that took the offered place on the backrest of the new chair, picking a nut from the bowl, consuming it with gusto. When the raveness watched them, turning her head from side to side, they all busied themselves with their meal, groaning blissfully when they discovered that – as before – Bilbo had outdone himself with the juicy meat and the fluffy dumplings. The vegetables were delicious and the cranberry jam too was much appreciated and Dís wondered if she could write to Adamanta, asking for more.

When they were through with the main course, they enjoyed a bowl of fruit salad with cherry liqueur and freshly whipped cream, deciding that they were much too full to give the delicious plate of cheeses the proper attention, and went for another smoke, relaxing on Bilbo’s new sofa in front of the fireplace.

Yet after a little while their appetite returned and they picked bits and pieces from the richly arranged plate, savouring the taste of the white cheese with strawberries and the one with the blue streaks with the nuts. At least after Bilbo explaining to them, that no, the cheese had not gone bad and yes, he was supposed to look that way, just try it!

When Vár tried to nick another nut from Bilbo’s plate, the hobbit cleared his throat audibly. Yet the bird only gave up her hunt for his treats when Kíli offered one of his.

A little while later, when really everybody was full to the brim, Bilbo sighed, too tired to defend the bowl with the remaining nuts any longer, and nudged it into Vár’s direction, receiving an affectionate nip on his sleeve for the effort. Everybody retreated to their previous seats in front of the fire, enjoying a glass of liquor laced with honey and fruit juice.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

Their conversation drifted this way and that. Bilbo told them about celebrations with his parents and their family, carefully avoiding mentioning the last one when his parents had … well, let’s just say he concentrated on stories of him being a young hobbit. Happy stories full of laughter and nicking of cookies and eating raw dough until he had a stomach-ache.

Thorin and Dís told of Erebor, Fíli and Kíli listened enraptured, and even Thráin put in a story or two from his own youth. But inevitably the king came back to the dinner their hobbit had just served and how amazing it had been and how unbelievable it was that Bilbo had been able to consume as much as a full-grown dwarf. His puzzlement about how hobbits treated their food during Bilbo’s birthday party was now completely dissolved in favour of undeluded admiration for his son-in-law’s cooking skills.

At that Bilbo shifted uneasily for a moment, not used to so much praise. He busied his hands pulling up the waistband of his trousers, something that – referring to the words of the tailor – had been taken in by a whole inch. Yet the hobbit decided that this could not be. Surely the royal tailor had not taken in the seam but let it out instead, as it still sat comfortably loose on his midsection even after a feast.

 

While they were listening to yet another story, Kíli suddenly interrupted his grandfather with an excited shout, “Presents!”

The young prince smiled expectantly at the other dwarrows, reminding them, “We have forgotten all about Bilbo’s presents!”

Bilbo had offered his wind-chimes at the beginning of the evening and everybody had admired his skill and the beauty of the chimes, deciding that the hobbit truly had found the perfect combination of gems and patterns for each of them. Thorin had even gone so far as to hang up his right over Bilbo’s fireplace where it would reflect the light from the silver mirror.

 

Smiling at her boys, Dís merely confirmed the statement. “So, who goes first?”

Getting up from the bench, the king suggested, “Maybe it would be wise to allow me, for I offer the base.”

Confused by these words, Bilbo looked from Thráin to Thorin, then to Dís and the boys, yet all of them only smiled with more or less open glee, ushering Bilbo to follow the king.

Stepping to the cloth-covered construction that Thráin had wrestled into the room upon his arrival, the king gestured for the hobbit to pull off the fabric. It revealed a three level stand, which the hobbit inspected curiously, not noticing that the better part of his dwarrows had left the room.

It truly was a thing of beauty. Wooden pillars on all sides, three broad shelves that grew slimmer towards the top. The support beams were covered with the most beautiful carvings. There were flowers, albeit clumsy ones, and vines, but most of all there were runes and jewels peeking through, showing where the king’s true mastery lay.

The lowest board had a small railing, keeping whatever was meant to be kept there, safe inside. The next one was slightly smaller, with a higher railing. It seemed perfect to hold whatever teaset Bilbo was planning to place there, keeping it from falling off. The hobbit was slightly surprised that the middle board was lined with metal, yet the whole shelf being of dwarven making, it seemed likely that it would have to contain metal.

The topmost shelf confused Bilbo the most, for it had no solid floor but instead a criss-cross of metal bands, embedded into a two-inch wooden railing. Small things placed there would fall right through, where was the use in that?

“It’s … it’s really beautiful, thank you, Thráin.” Bilbo still felt uneasy to call the king by his first name, but Thráin had insisted that it was only appropriate when being with family. “I like it, though I am not entirely sure what the topmost shelf is supposed to hold.”

 

Despite the hobbit’s confusion, the dwarf merely looked behind Bilbo without answering, gesturing for the hobbit to turn around.

Positively beaming, Fíli and Kíli held four pots of different plants, offering them to Bilbo excitedly.

“They are supposed to not need a lot of water.”

“And they should thrive in the climate of the mountain.”

“At least that’s what your Master Gamgee said.”

Looking at the boys in disbelief, Bilbo asked, “You talked to Hamfast Gamgee?”

Sharing a grin, Fíli stated, “Well if you want to know something about gardening, you go to Hamfast Gamgee. That’s what you always told us.”

“And we wanted you to have some plants in your rooms, because they look so unhobbitish and we thought you would like that,” Kíli added, his voice going smaller at the end, since all of a sudden he was not as convinced of their plan as he had been all these last weeks when they had wandered around, finding plants that matched the written instructions of the gardener.

So all that Bilbo could do was to gape and stare. Fíli and Kíli – with their aversion to lessons and writing – had conversed with his neighbour. They had taken it upon themselves to look for plants that would survive indoors and had collected them and re-potted them, all by themselves. There was really but one thing to do.

“Thank you, Fíli, and you Kíli. That is really amazing. Thank you so very much.” Taking the plants from them, handing them off to Thráin who placed them on the middle shelf, Bilbo hugged first the blond, then the dark-haired dwarf, receiving two bone-crushing hugs in return.

When he turned around, he saw the king arranging the plants. Instantly he stepped in, “No, please, they are so beautiful, they should be on the topmost shelf.”

But he was interrupted by Thorin’s rumbling voice from behind, “Well, I would suggest these going to the topmost shelf where they can get the most light.”

Turning around, Bilbo found his husband holding a wide tray covered with a linen sack that held about half a dozen stems of the brightest lavender. When touching them reverently, he found the sacks containing stones and felt only a little earth moving inbetween. The perfect surrounding for lavender, as he had found out in the Shire. The garden under his front windows had been covered with these plants, making their scent waft through the house when they were in full bloom.

“They are so … thank you so much, Thorin.” Throwing his arms around his husband’s neck, Bilbo was only barely aware of Dís and Thráin reaching for the flowers.

Fíli and Kíli had been so tremendously thoughtful and had put so much effort into the gathering of the plants, and yet Thorin’s flowers spoke of one thing more than anything else: of understanding his newly wedded husband, of being aware of how much he had missed the familiar scent that not even bath-oil or soap could replace.

Bilbo realized that Thorin most likely hadn’t had to wander wide, for lavender was a common plant even in the mountains. For all he knew, it was more likely that the lavender here was even richer than in the Shire, needing only little earth and a lot of rock to be prosperous.

Still, not to leave out the boys, he returned to hugging them when they protested the attention their uncle got, before arranging the linen, carefully keeping it confined around the rocks and the earth.

When everything was sitting perfectly, Bilbo took a step back and admired the picture. The lavender at the very top was beautiful, and the light and dark green plants only enhanced its beauty. All in all, a near-perfect arrangement.

“Now I only need something for the lowest board,” Bilbo contemplated, turning around, when he heard Dís, “Well, that would be my cue.”

Offering a wooden box, she couldn’t help but smile when Bilbo opened it eagerly.

Inside their hobbit found a small watering can, the perfect size for his new shelf. Additionally there was a pair of scissors, some thin wooden beams and a reel, along with a beautiful, tiny shovel. Obviously Thorin had shared his knowledge about gardening tools with Dís, as even miniaturized, these tools looked perfect. They even had wooden handles, though they were not red but blue, but that was to be expected when receiving a present from a member of the Durin family.

So Dís was the last one to be hugged fiercely and thanked for the tools. An action that was only interrupted by Fíli and Kíli mentioning offhandedly that they had made the handles for the tools, for their mother was by far not as good with wood as she was with metal. Going for a third round of hugs, the boys finally let go of Bilbo in favour of nicking biscuits from the kitchen, before their mother could confiscate them for her lover.

 

Aware that it was now quite late, the Durins helped Bilbo with the washing up, despite the hobbit’s protests that this really wasn’t necessary, before they bid him a good night.

Dís took the last of the biscuits with her, grinning at her sons who groaned that with Dwalin in their mother’s chamber, seeing her in that dress again, they really couldn’t sleep, fearing for the princess’s virtue. Their mother merely laughed at the statement, ushering her sons out of the room.

Thráin thanked Bilbo one last time for the excellent food before bidding his goodnights as well. Bilbo dared to hug him and thanked him once again for the present. He still felt awkward afterwards.

Thorin took care of the leftovers, storing them in a small cupboard on the farthest side of the kitchen. Tomorrow, before they had to attend the feast in the evening, they would go through their day on leftovers. Still, with a hobbit, that was almost as good as a three-course meal.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

When he had finished in the kitchen, Thorin found his husband in front of the new flower shelf. Bilbo had already discarded his waistcoat, the dying light of the fire giving him a near ethereal beauty, making his soft trousers and light shirt glow. Thorin hugged him from behind, whispering into his ear, “There is one last present left for you to open.”

Turning around, Bilbo looked up at his husband curiously and received a small package. It was not more than two inches in diameter, and when the hobbit opened it, he found silk ribbons inside, soft on the surface, yet woven strong enough to not tear easily.

Wetting his lips in anticipation, Thorin whispered, “I thought maybe you wanted to try again.”

Looking up at his husband, Bilbo trailed the ribbons through his fingers, reaching for Thorin’s face so that the skin of his dwarf was equally caressed by the silky cloth as well as his fingers. Pulling in his husband, stopping merely a breath away from him, Bilbo promised, “Oh believe me, my sweet, I will. Come on, let’s put these to good use.”

 

And there it was again, the fire in his veins, and this time his hobbit had not even kissed him. Thorin had been right, it HAD BEEN a long evening. Yet it had been worth the wait, for now they had the entire night to themselves and Thorin knew that Bilbo could be tremendously creative when they had time. He truly was looking forward to it.

 

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	35. Silky Ribbons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You know where I am going with this. So enjoy :).

“Don’t let me wait, my sweet, or I will start without you.”

Bilbo’s voice was cheeky and challenging and had the desired effect. No longer lingering, fantasizing about what the night would bring, Thorin went after his hobbit, so that they could help each other out of their clothes and go over their evening routine as fast as possible. This promised to be interesting.

Bilbo had extinguished all candles save the one on their bedside table, where their lube rested. The room was bathed in a warm glow nevertheless, since the hobbit had raked the fire in advance, making sure that neither of them would be freezing without the warmth of covers. Admiring his husband’s broad form, Bilbo crawled over him, covering Thorin’s body with his own, leaning down for a through kiss that left them both panting.

The interlude in the tub in the afternoon had been a promise for more and now both Thorin and Bilbo were looking forward to it: the hobbit because he was excited about this new game and the dwarf because he hadn’t had a chance to find any relief for more than three days. All week the preparations for the Yule banquet had kept both of them up to their ears – two of them slightly pointy – in things to do, not allowing them a moment to breathe.

So Thorin was more than ready for his husband, and his desire flared, as soon as he felt Bilbo’s soft skin covering his own. His hands roamed over the hobbit’s body, tangling in the copper locks, comparing them to the evening sun. Bilbo’s arms and hands were kissed by Thorin lovingly; his chest and soft stomach were showered with compliments and attention.

True, for a dwarf, Bilbo’s form would be deemed too soft and too pudgy, but Thorin had come to love it and wouldn’t want his hobbit to change, not for all the treasures in Middle-earth.

Thorin didn’t see Bilbo flinch when the dwarf kissed his stomach, admiring verbosely the softness of it.

The hobbit put all unpleasant thoughts aside, freeing the bands his husband had given him from his own wrists where he had stored them, stretching to wrap them around the bedposts. Then he nudged his lover into a comfortable position and bound his dwarf’s wrists. Bilbo made sure that the ribbons firmly circled the skin, he didn’t want to give Thorin the chance to escape too easily.

Once Thorin was bound, the hobbit came to rest on his chest, careful not to upset the dwarf’s stomach that had to be full from dinner. Tenderly brushing away the dark tresses of his lover, caressing his face with the tips of his fingers, Bilbo told him, “There is one last present left, a present I made for you myself, but couldn’t give you while your family was around.”

“But you already gave me the wind-chime.”

Leaning down to nip at his dwarfs chin, Bilbo whispered conspiratorially, “Well this one mirrors more the thought behind your ribbons than my wind-chime.”

Swallowing heavily Thorin took a deep breath, looking up at his husband expectantly. His eyes never left his lover’s form, when the hobbit leaned over him and towards their nightstand, freeing a palm-long parcel, offering it to the dwarf.

With a grin the hobbit asked, “Well, you seem a little tied up at the moment. Should I open it for you?”

Wondering about what could be in such a strange looking box, Thorin merely nodded. It was unlikely to be a quill and Bilbo was not really the type to present him with jewellery.

Slowly, Bilbo trailed his fingers over the parcel, slowly pulling the ribbons until they fell down on Thorin’s chest. He turned the gift towards the intended recipient, lifting the cover at the same time. The confused eyes of his lover told the hobbit that the dwarf had no idea what this was supposed to be, though he’d surely had intimate contact with the real-life version of it.

“Bilbo, it’s pretty but …”

Smiling alluringly, the hobbit pulled the wooden object out of the box, running his fingers over the smooth and polished surface, and asked in a hushed tone, “Do you really have no idea where this could go? I imagine, you having so much fun with the living thing it was copied from, you would also enjoy an artificial one.”

Thorin’s eyes flew open and all of a sudden his throat was very dry. True, when you had an idea what this object was supposed to mirror, there really was no doubt what it was. Its head was smooth and beautifully shaped and the long shaft polished and gleaming in the candlelight. At the base it narrowed considerably, ending in a smooth handle.

Bilbo couldn’t supress a naughty grin when he saw understanding dawning in his husband’s face. Bringing the polished wood to his mouth, caressing it with his lips, he whispered, “Do you want to try, lover?”

“Yes …” Thorin swallowed, embarrassed when his voice was nothing more than an incomprehensible croak. Taking a deep breath he tried his very best to suppress the shivers that wracked his frame at the thought of this present logged deep in his backside. “Yes, please. I … I would like that, I think.”

The small grin of his hobbit told the dwarf that this was exactly what Bilbo had wanted to hear, and by Mahal was it easy to give in. The idea of being filled with a carved object was equally frightening and appealing. The mere thought seemed dirty and vulgar, not at all suitable for royalty, but seeing the highly polished wood that was formed after Bilbo’s own erection, just a tad smaller, had him push all thoughts of propriety out of his mind.

 

Bilbo smirked when he saw his dwarf equally wretched and eager beneath him. Having by now a good idea of what dwarrows thought as proper and respectable – even couples barely held hands when out in the open – he had anticipated Thorin’s reaction to his present being quite split between shocked and wanton. But this really was better than anticipated.

Obviously his dwarf remained true to his promise, allowing Bilbo to teach him everything the hobbit knew about lovemaking. Thorin’s trust knew no bounds and when his hobbit dangled something before his eyes, he was willing to try, no matter how scandalized he was about the idea.

This was a big step and Bilbo had thought about this a lot. Partners had to have a lot of faith to allow the other to enter their bodies, even more so when the said body was entered by an object.

The hobbit had worried briefly that this too might blow up in his face, like the idea with the blindfold, but he could not think of a reason why it might, other than cultural prejudice.

Thorin, on the other hand, didn’t seem to have a problem with social expectations for the moment – propriety be damned. His eyes never left the wooden dildo Bilbo had carved for him and he hissed slightly when the hobbit placed it on his chest to reach for the oil.

Bilbo had chosen to create a small copy of his own privates, since skin was forgiving and wood was not and he didn’t want to hurt Thorin during their play. When he saw the dwarf’s fixation with his present, he reached for the pot and pushed it between the mattress and the bedframe so that it would not spill. Then he picked up the wood once again and ran his hands caressingly over the surface, dangling it over his husband’s face.

Slowly Bilbo lowered the dildo and gently touched his husband’s lips with it. Thorin’s groan revealed that the dwarf was enticed by it already. Tracing the shape with his lips and the tip of his tongue, Thorin whined involuntarily before he could swallow the sound, when Bilbo pulled the dildo back.

Shushing his husband with a loving kiss, the hobbit whispered to him. “Hush, my sweet. You will get plenty acquainted with this tonight. For now I have to prepare you, stretch you until your body is ready to take it. Do you want that, me entering you with my fingers, widening you for the wood to slip in and sit snuggly between your gorgeous arse-cheeks?”

 

“Yes! By Mahal, YES!” Thorin had barely any restraint left and was suddenly glad for the ties that held him. Latching onto the bedframe, he arched his body into Bilbo’s hands, spreading his legs to show how very ready he was for everything the hobbit had in store for him tonight. He was breathing heavily with anticipation when he felt Bilbo’s clever fingers caressing his arse.

Thorin really didn’t know where to look first, since the wooden dildo lay on his chest, taunting him, and Bilbo sat nested between his legs, slowly applying kisses to Thorin’s belly, hips and thighs. The dwarf wanted to shift, wanted to arch up to get his erection closer to his hobbit’s enticing lips, as his shaft was leaking already, but if he did so, Bilbo’s present would roll off of him, and for some reason he didn’t want that.

 

Bilbo smiled up at Thorin, enjoying the restraint his dwarf showed during his teasing. Bilbo had not ‘forgotten’ the item on Thorin’s chest. On the contrary, he had placed it there on purpose, so that his husband could familiarize himself with it, ahead of accepting it into his body. When he circled his dwarf’s hole, slightly dipping in with oily fingers, he heard Thorin’s moan. And Bilbo had not even started.

The hobbit took his time preparing his lover. He stretched Thorin slowly and thoroughly, making sure his husband enjoyed himself, while slowly relaxing the ring of muscles. Still Bilbo avoided the gland that would bring his dwarf the most pleasure. Tonight Bilbo wanted to play and Thorin would be in for a long night.

 

The royal heir was sure that he would lose his mind if Bilbo kept up with these slow and unsatisfying touches and was about to say so, when suddenly the weight on his chest was gone. Opening his eyes to look at his husband, he shivered slightly when Bilbo’s playful grin accompanied the first nudge of the dildo against his backside. Eager for it, he lifted his lower body to give his husband the best access possible and groaned when the head of the wooden toy slid into him.

He wanted to lower himself, to have it slip right into his body. But the wood was unforgiving and for a moment, even the head of it seemed too much. Bilbo, clearly aware of this, stopped his movements and held the dildo in place, rubbing soothing circles over his dwarf’s thighs and showering his lower body with kisses to ease his husband. After several moments, Thorin was able to let go again and another part of the toy slipped into him.

 

Slowly and steadily, with his hands caressing his husband’s tummy, Bilbo sank the wooden phallus right into Thorin’s body. What a gorgeous sight his dwarf made, all eager, and yet conflicted, since his body was not used to handle an unanimated object. For a moment Bilbo debated with himself if he should have tied Thorin’s feet as well, but the slow and careful movements of his husband dispelled his worries that he might hurt him with a sudden move.

When the toy was embedded in Thorin’s arse, the handle firmly snuggled between his toned cheeks, the dwarf whimpered a little and shifted uneasily. Instantly worried that his lover was hurt, Bilbo looked up again, but only saw his husband marring his bottom lip between his white teeth. Within a single moment his movements shifted from unsure and random to a slow rolling of his hips, clearly discovering the advantages of his toy.

“Bilbo, I …”

Crawling up again, Bilbo cleaning his fingers thoroughly with a wet rag he had prepared before tracing Thorin’s bottom lip teasing it, delving into his husband’s mouth as soon as it was open, sealing Thorin’s lips with his own. The dwarf leaned up eagerly, intensified his movements and groaned into the demanding kiss his husband bestowed on him.

“Bilbo, I …” Thorin sounded broken and more than a little conflicted until Bilbo reached down and reached for the handle, slowly rotating the toy within Thorin’s body. Now Bilbo was graced with a good look into his dwarf’s eyes, because Thorin opened them wide when a powerful shudder racked his frame.

The hobbit’s voice was soft and teasing when he asked in a mere whisper, “Do you want me to remove it?”

 

“By Mahal … I … no … I … I don’t know.” Looking into Bilbo’s eyes almost desperately Thorin tried to explain, “I have never felt this way. It’s so thick and it … oh god, do that again!”

 

“Whatever your heart desires, my sweet.” Bilbo really couldn’t take his eyes of his gorgeous husband, who shuddered and moaned under the small movements. At least until Bilbo decided that Thorin was ready for their play. He allowed his hands to wander slowly from Thorin’s middle over his thighs down to his feet. Pulling back from the top, Bilbo took first one and then the other foot into his hand, massaging them gently with the available oil, peppering them with kisses.

Working his way up again, Bilbo massaged every part of his husband’s skin with his hands before tracing it with his lips, lingering on the spots where Thorin would move more eagerly, and especially where his husband would freeze and barely draw breath.

His dwarf’s movements went from rhythmical to erratic whenever Bilbo found a particularly sensitive spot and the hobbit made good use of them, slowly but surely driving his lover crazy.

 

At Thorin’s groin, Bilbo lingered a little, taking his time to admire his husband’s shaft, tracing it with the tip of his tongue and caressing it with his fingers. The hobbit enjoyed this game, enjoyed his dwarf doing all the work for him, he merely had to hold his hands steady and Thorin would fuck into them, completely lost in the sensation of getting stimuli from the front as well as from the back.

When Bilbo abandoned his shaft, Thorin looked at him pleadingly, but the hobbit only kissed the tip one last time, assuring, “I will return here, I promise,” before reaching for the white band that had held his latest present for his husband. With an alluring smile, Bilbo teased his husband’s sensitive flesh with the silk, before wrapping it around the base of Thorin’s cock, crisscrossing it up to the head, before binding a nice, decorative bow at the top.

 

The hobbit was well aware that a strong enough constriction would keep his husband from coming, but that was not his goal tonight. He wanted to tease and to play, but not to constrict this part of Thorin as well. The ribbon would merely serve as another tease for the ends tickled his dwarf’s tummy with every movement, and the blazing-white cloth made such a nice contrast to his husband’s skin. The look in his lover’s eyes was priceless, when he inspected Bilbo’s handiwork, clearly puzzled by the concept of decorating this part of his anatomy with a silky ribbon.

The hobbit used this moment of confusion to shift up on the bed, smoothing Thorin’s creased forehead with his fingertips, whispering into his ear at the same time, “If you are good, maybe I will allow you to persuade me to decorate you more often like this.”

When the dwarf’s eyes flew up, Bilbo chuckled. “Would like that, Thorin? Imagine a day in the council chamber, with all the dwarven Lords in discussion over important matters, while you sit there with your precious cock bound by one of my ribbons. You would feel my touch on you every moment of the day.”

Thorin’s face mirrored confusion, anxiousness, and yet more than a little desire. Maybe his lover had a hidden streak Bilbo could explore in the future. But for now the hobbit would be content to indulge his husband, enjoy that they had all the time in the world, and didn’t need to rise early to attend lessons, training or council meetings.

Bilbo had clearly overwhelmed Thorin’s senses, for when the hobbit traced the rest of his face, from his forehead to the tip of his nose, outlining his lips, the dwarf merely latched onto his fingers, maybe in the hope that he could avoid answering Bilbo’s question.

True, the hobbit was eager to have his fingers in the warm and moist cavern of Thorin’s mouth, but he hadn’t expected his husband to answer in the first place. This was too early for him; having been introduced to bindings and toys all in the same evening, his husband couldn’t really be expected to decide immediately whether he liked them or not. That would come later, tomorrow or the day after, when his husband’s mind was no longer clouded with pleasure.

 

Honestly, at the moment Thorin really didn’t know what to say or what to do. Not only because Bilbo’s caresses stole the last of his sanity. The wooden toy, embedded deep within his body, sent waves of pleasure through him, and when Bilbo had abandoned his cock Thorin had briefly thought about demanding his return there.

But then his hobbit had bound his shaft and the novelty of this had derailed Thorin’s thoughts once again. The idea of being bound like this during a council meeting was equally shocking and enticing, but the dwarf was quite sure that something like that was NOT suitable for an heir of Durin.

The last conscious thoughts fled his mind when Bilbo returned to teasing his overheated skin. Thorin felt as if he was incinerated from the inside out. His blood was boiling in his veins and every touch and every kiss of his hobbit only fanned the flames. For the first time he was grateful for the ribbons, as he was not sure what he would have done to Bilbo, were he free to move.

His husband’s lips on his nipples made him moan once again. As Bilbo had found out during their second night together, he was quite sensitive there, and every shift of his upper body resulted in movement in his lower body and then the toy would make itself known again. So Thorin was trapped in an endless circle of arousal and desire where everything happened at once, but nothing was enough to trip him over the edge.

Bilbo was clever. Oh how very clever his hobbit was. He always knew when Thorin was approaching his peak. Bilbo shifted his attention from the most sensitive spots to other, less eager parts of his anatomy, teasing them anew before abandoning them as well.

The dwarf really couldn’t say how long he was lost in this spiral of desire. He was only partially aware that nonsensical words left his mouth, pleas, demands, Bilbo’s name over and over again. He didn’t know how to formulate a coherent sentence any more. All he knew was his husband and what he did to him. In that very moment, Bilbo conquered his entire existence.

 

When the first tears started to leak out of Thorin’s eyes since he simply couldn’t take it any longer, Bilbo took mercy in him. Slowly, tenderly, the hobbit moved down again, having bestowed his husband’s nipples the uttermost attention, so that they rose to little pebbles, sensitive even to the smallest blow. Deliberately Bilbo reached for his husbands decorated erection.

When he encircled his dwarf’s leaking shaft with his hand once again, Thorin’s eyes flew open, locking with Bilbo’s as desperate pleas fell from the dwarf’s lips. “I will do everything … anything you desire. I will wear this ribbon, even the toy during council meetings, during training, whenever you like, but Bilbo please, please don’t stop! I can’t take this anymore. Please!” Thorin frantically arched up his lower body, shoving his erection into his husband’s hands.

Bilbo could only smile at his husband’s eagerness. Only when the dwarf closed his eyes again, whispering hoarse words in Khuzdul over and over again, did Bilbo know that he was truly lost in the sensation. Without hesitating another moment, Bilbo leaned down and trapped Thorin’s cock in his mouth. Caressing the shaft over and inbetween the ribbons without unravelling them, he pleasured his husband until he spilled into Bilbo’s mouth.

Swallowing everything Thorin’s body offered, Bilbo pulled back when the last drop had left Thorin’s shaft, slowly reaching for his husband’s backside, where the toy still lay firm between his arse-cheeks. Bestowing a particularly stimulating twist on it, Bilbo saw that his dwarf was far from satisfied by this shallow orgasm. Within moments his cock twitched again.

 

Bilbo made a show of freeing the dildo from his lover’s body. At first Thorin barely reacted, basking in the afterglow of his climax, but it didn’t take the dwarf’s body long to rise up to the challenge again. Putting his feet on the duvet, arching up his body, Thorin threw back his head, presenting Bilbo with an tempting picture of his neckline, strong chest and flat stomach. His erection was once again the highest part of the dwarf’s body, arching over his tummy, looking good enough to be eaten.

But Bilbo carefully pulled his thoughts away from that idea. He wanted to fuck his dwarf tonight, deep and thorough, and for that this toy had to go. There was much fun in teasing Thorin all over with it, in and out, first a little more, then a little less, dripping oil over it on occasion, to keep it slippery enough so that it would not hurt his lover. Thorin’s moans increased in volume once again, and only when the toy had left his dwarf’s body, did Thorin look at him again.

In a mere whisper the dwarf begged, “Take me. Take me, Bilbo, please! I feel so empty, so lonely, I can’t bear it. Please, anything for you, if you just take me.”

Whispering comforting words at his lover, Bilbo slicked himself before sinking into his lover with one, slow stroke. True, the toy had been smaller than him, and therefore Thorin felt the intrusion more than if Bilbo had stretched him lengthily beforehand. His husband’s blissful hiss was enough to reassure the hobbit that his lover was not hurt and revelled in the feeling of being taken.

Instantly Thorin wrapped his legs around Bilbo’s waist, pulling him closer, if that was even possible. Now both males enjoyed the feeling of being together once again. Bilbo’s first thrusts were shallow and teasing, but he soon picked up a pace that satisfied the needs of both lovers. After a little while he unwound the white ribbon from Thorin’s cock and after coating it with a generous amount of oil, stroked it in rhythm with his thrusts.

 

All Thorin could do was hold on to the ride. He was well aware that everything that had happened tonight – even his first orgasm – had been mere foreplay, preparations that had always aimed for one goal and one goal alone: this!

The union of their bodies was the best feeling imaginable for the dwarf. He was shocked by his own boldness, to have offered to wear the ribbon and the toy in public, but he knew as well that he had been completely honest at that time. He wasn’t sure how he felt about it now, but the mere thought of being marked by Bilbo, carrying something of the hobbit on or in his body sent sparks of pleasure through his entire being.

 

When Bilbo added a particularly punishing shove to his movements to get his attention, Thorin looked at him and could only nod when his husband demanded, “Your eyes will not leave mine again!”

After that he was truly and entirely lost. For despite all the pleasure that coursed through his body, his blazing blue eyes were locked with the hazel eyes of his lover that held him captive. Every stroke, every shove, it all sank into the background for this was only for his husband and for him alone.

Thorin had trouble fighting down another wave of desire that threatened to overwhelm him, but Bilbo had already pleasured him, he would be damned if he finished first during their second round. But his husband was cunning; playing his body like Thorin played his harp.

When his orgasm threatened to overwhelm him, Thorin sobbed, holding on to the headboard, his knuckles showing white in the hopeless attempt to keep himself from cumming, “Bilbo, please, I don’t want to finish before …”

But his husband interrupted him, by leaning forward, trapping his erection between their stomachs, biting Thorin’s ear before ordering, “You will do whatever I desire and right now I desire for you to come!”

Helpless against such a command, Thorin gave up all fight and felt the first gush of his seed spilling between their bodies. But instead of stopping after that, Bilbo’s movements and his stimulations continued and dragged Thorin with him. Half a dozen times did the hobbit push into his husband, making him feel each and every one of them to the fullest before he finally followed his dwarf over the edge.

 

It was everything, everything and far too much all at once. Once his orgasm had started, Thorin had felt Bilbo’s efforts all the more intensely. It was so much that it nearly bore on being painful and when the hobbit had finally stopped Thorin couldn’t supress the shivers that racked his frame. He wanted to curl up, to hide his face because he knew that tears were spilling from his eyes. Bilbo didn’t need to see him in this state of distress, but his hobbit obviously wasn’t ready to let him go.

Thorin felt the bands around his wrists being loosened and Bilbo’s strong arms pulling him in. Sobs and tears drained the dwarf’s body of the last of his strength and made him easy to manipulate. When he found himself back in Bilbo’s arms, with his husband’s body enclosing his from all sides, he couldn’t imagine a better place and burrowed into him.

 

Bilbo couldn’t supress a smile when he felt his lover all satisfied and pliant in his arms. He was aware that he had sentenced his dwarf to endure quite a lot tonight, but his last orgasm had been all the more intense for it. It had been a while that Thorin had come so undone during their lovemaking and Bilbo couldn’t help but feel a little smug about it.

After a little while, when Thorin was about to doze off, Bilbo rearranged his lover on the bed, pulling away the soiled covers, cleaning him with a soft cloth and some warm water he had prepared in advance. Truly it was a little strange to put a teakettle at the bedside but luckily the water inside had stored the heat so that Bilbo now had nice, warm water. Gently he caressed Thorin’s face, wiping away the sweat and the tears. Afterwards he tenderly brushed over his torso, which had been painted with the majority of the seed Thorin had spilled; after all, he didn’t want his husband to feel uncomfortably sticky when he woke up.

When the cleaning was finished, Bilbo pulled up the blankets and furs to keep his husband warm, while disposing of the clean-up materials, as well as cleaning himself and the toy. Before putting it back into the box, he coated it with a thin layer of oil once again. It would be a waste to let such a beautiful object dry out or allow it to become rough.

The moment the hobbit slipped between the sheets, Thorin turned around, claiming his sleeping place on Bilbo’s chest. Affectionately, the hobbit trailed his fingers through Thorin’s dark strands, whispering quietly, “One day, Thorin, one day you will reveal what you are saying when we are making love. Until then, keep your secrets, lover.”

After a loving kiss on his husband’s head, Bilbo snuggled into the pillows comfortably and drifted off to sleep.

 

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	36. Yule Festival

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A joyous celebration, with a twist.

The next day started peacefully. Bilbo and Thorin enjoyed a tranquil breakfast, lounging in the kitchen until lunchtime. They simply talked, about everything and nothing. Bilbo shared his astonishment of how many rights and duties fell to a royal consort. How very much dwarrows valued their history and how hard weapons training was for him.

Hobbits were … simply a lot more carefree. The Shire was a safe place. The Brandywine River usually protected them from the dangers of the east and in the west there was nothing for a whole two weeks, so really there was no danger to be expected from either side.

 

Thorin adored the stories from the Shire, because they were both enjoyable and for a dwarf who had worried his whole life about all the things he _could not_ give his people, a glimpse of a life where nothing but food, family and a pipe now and then were important was cheering him up.

 

“Honestly, Thorin, why should we care about anything else,” Bilbo asked at some point. “Why should we try to expand when we have comfortable homes big enough for our families and enough farmland to feed not only us but a whole bunch of dwarrows as well? Yes, we offered stocks we had built up for hard times but we can do so again. We lost nothing of importance by trading with you.

“Why should we care for gold and gems when all they buy is food and clothing? You can’t eat gold, you can only make your smial comfortable up to a certain point, after that it’s just cold metal that’s of no use. And the conquering of others … we like our lives easy and simple. Did you know that we changed our calendar only to have every year starting with the same day? Every single one of our months has the same amount of days, thirty to be precise. As I said, we like our things easy. Even teaching our calendar to anybody else alone would be too tiresome for us to bother.”

Calculating swiftly Thorin stated, “But there are more than 360 days to a year.”

“That’s what the lithe-days are for in the summer, or the Yule-days in winter. We just adapt, so we don’t have to think about it all that much. We care about the more important things, for example that the fourth Mersday in Halimath will always be my birthday. So when I send out party invitations for that day, nobody has to calculate. They will simply know that I am going to give out presents. That’s enough reason for my family – and half the Shire – to come.”

“Easy enough, but I doubt that the Shire Reckoning will find much approval with the dwarrows here.” Thorin smiled.

“That’s why I have a calendar in each and every one of my notebooks. When someone offers a date I can take a quick peek and know what they are talking about.”

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

When around noon two sleepy-eyed dwarrows knocked on their door, Thorin merely exchanged a knowing look with Bilbo, before he ushered his nephews into the kitchen, taking it upon himself to tame their bed-hair so that it would not dangle into their plates.

No matter what Bombur was preparing in advance of the festival, the princes obviously favoured Bilbo’s leftovers over the Chef’s fresh dishes.

So the hobbit stretched the soup with some water and gravy. While it reheated, he prepared sandwiches for all of them, with cold venison and enough greens to make his dwarrows crinkle their noses. But as the hobbit insisted, greens were good for them, so they would eat the sandwiches or there would be no biscuits for any of them!

The outlook that Dís had not stolen all of Bilbo’s treats made all three dwarrows spoon their soup and eat their sandwiches obediently, before they were rewarded with a cup of tea and two biscuits each. After the meal Fíli and Kíli fell asleep on Bilbo’s comfortable sofa again, until their uncle nudged them awake so they could take a bath and prepare themselves for the banquet a few hours later.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

“Yes … yes, I know. Thank you. I am sure this will suffice.” Why, oh why, had Bilbo allowed the royal tailor into his quarters? True, he usually had a good time in the workshop. He enjoyed looking at different types of clothes and sketches of outfits and all that. But being prodded and pricked and snapped at and all that for more than an hour was really more than any sensible hobbit could take. Had he learned nothing from his wedding day?

“But Master Baggins, we have to make sure that everything is perfect, imagine one gem falling off on the dance-floor!” the tailor countered, snipping away the last piece of thread, making the outfit literally perfect.

Blanching, Bilbo stuttered, “Dance floor?” Looking around for Thorin helplessly, the hobbit shivered slightly when he remembered the extensive dancing lessons he had gotten prior to their wedding.

Master Kiron had made sure that the hobbit knew every last step, every movement and its meaning and could give a flawless performance. But nobody had mentioned dancing when they had talked about the Yule festival. Why hadn’t anybody said anything?

 

Smiling at his slightly panicking husband, Thorin guided Bilbo towards a chair and rubbed his wrists in calming circles. “Don’t worry, my dear. The dance at the Yule festivity is traditionally opened by the king and queen. Since my mother is dead, father invites Dís to join him. And once you have seen my sister in an evening gown, believe me, you won’t worry about anybody looking at us. We only join them a few moments later and we’ll be swiftly followed by the rest of the guests. It’s quite informal at that point, so don’t worry.”

 

Taking a deep breath, Bilbo forced a relieved smile on his face. After a moment, he took in the form of his husband. While his own clothes were of good quality but of conservative cut – light-grey trousers and a white shirt were covered by a sleeveless shimmering blue coat that was embroidered with myriads of sparkling shards – Thorin looked every bit the royal heir.

The colours of his clothes mirrored Bilbo’s. The coat was of a deep-blue velvet that nearly swallowed the light. It accented the pendant that hung to the middle of Thorin’s chest and looked all the richer for the dark-grey fur that lined the coat. All in all his husband looked imposing and very, very majestic. His last item of clothing was a discreet golden crown that enhanced the shining beauty of his raven strands. True, the crown was but a smaller version of the king’s, but still.

 

“You look quite regal, dear husband. I am not sure if I can compete, no matter how beautiful the outfit the tailors have made for me,” Bilbo pondered when rising to his feet, looking at Thorin from all sides.

Reaching for a small box, Thorin stated, “Well, luckily for you I have something for you here, something that might make you match my majesty.” He grinned when Bilbo pulled his tresses for the bold words.

Crossing his arms, looking up at his husband, the hobbit demanded, “Well, then show me what you think I need to be worthy of standing at your side?”

With a smirk Thorin opened the box and offered its contents to his husband.

Inside was a beautiful, golden headband, suitable for the royal consort. Bilbo reached for it, completely in awe, traced the intricate patterns that reminded him of the runes that decorated the table in the council chamber, and whispered, “By everything that is sacred, that’s beautiful, Thorin. But surely this is too much for a simple hobbit. I can’t … I mean this is gold, and it looks so important and official and …”

Interrupting his husband with a small nudge, Thorin took the band from Bilbo’s hands and placed it on the hobbit’s head. Angling both of them towards the mirror, Thorin gave Bilbo ample time to admire the view. Truly his husband’s copper locks were only enhanced by the beauty of the headband. Reverently Bilbo traced it with his fingers, recognizing the runes circling it. “What … what does it say?”

 

Before Thorin could offer any insight, the door opened and Fíli and Kíli entered, in full attire. Once more Bilbo looked in admiration at his dwarrows.

Both boys wore more or less the same outfit, only the silver and blue of Fíli’s coat and trousers were reversed on Kíli’s. If Bilbo hadn’t known better, Kíli would pass as Thorin’s son without a second thought. Though, the young dwarf was not able to mirror the calm confidence and self-control Thorin showed in public.

While Fíli’s outfit was close to flawless, enhancing the beauty of the prince’s golden locks and the jewels he was wearing, Kíli only wore a coat without any additional accessories, for as the prince himself commented, between his mother, brother and uncle, nobody would look at him so why should he bother with useless trinkets?

Fíli came closer to Bilbo and gently touched the hobbit’s headband. “I remember this,” he whispered, lost in memory. “I wore a similar band when I was little, it means …” hesitating for a moment, Fíli seemed to have troubles conjuring that particular information, but soon his face lit up and he explained, “It means ‘Ruler from the Line of Durin’. I wore this because after uncle I was the firstborn prince of the next generation and therefore next in line for the throne.”

 

Turning towards Thorin, Bilbo protested, “Than that is very unsuitable for me, Thorin. I really shouldn’t wear this, no matter how beautiful it is!”

“Why not? You are a Ruler from the Line of Durin. Not by blood, but by marriage. That does not lessen your right to rule in my father’s and my absence.” Thorin explained, slightly confused why his hobbit didn’t like the headband any more all of a sudden.

“Excuse me?” Bilbo looked at his husband completely dumbfounded. “What about Dís, and Fíli and Kíli? They are Durins! Why should I claim such a title?”

“Because, dear husband,” Thorin explained with an understanding smile, “Your claim is stronger than that of my sister and my nephews. So if anything should happen – though let’s pray to Mahal that it will not – you will guide our people, be it through harvest or anything else.”

“But … I …” Bilbo clearly seemed at a loss in this situation, before he shook his head and closed the distance to his husband. “Nothing will happen to you. We are here, everything is alright, I really don’t have to worry about anything, do I?”

Hugging his dear hobbit close, Thorin bestowed the most loving kiss on him before promising, “No, nothing will happen, you don’t have to worry.”

Little did he know what an empty promise he had uttered that fateful night.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

The Durins left Bilbo’s rooms after they had been cleared by the tailor, ready to meet Dís to go to the banquet hall together. When the princess emerged from her rooms, Bilbo’s … well, the truth was, in Bilbo’s mind ‘breathtaking’ did not nearly cover how his sister-in-law was looking.

The princess wore an absolutely marvellous deep-blue, shimmering evening gown that showed the barest hint of her shoulders, with a very decent neckline. It was made of the same cloth as Bilbo’s coat, but with Dís’s white skin and raven hair, she looked very much like a fairy-tale princess. Her hair was braided artistically at the top of her head, enhanced with tiny crystal flowers that caught the light. The dark cloth of her gown was embroidered with myriads of gem-shards that enhanced the ends of her sleeves and her neckline as well as a broad band of jewels down her front, which made her look even more imposing. Not even with his elvish friends had Bilbo ever seen anything remotely as regal.

So he reached for Dís’s hand and breathed a kiss on it, stating adoringly, “I have never seen a vision more beautiful, dear sister. Dwarrows will fall over themselves to have you by their side tonight.”

“Oh, I hope not,” the king rumbled good naturedly, walking up to his daughter and took her hand, mirroring the hobbit’s gesture. “But Bilbo is right, you look absolutely breathtaking, mizimith.”

 

Fíli and Kíli however, did not share that opinion in the slightest. “But you can’t, mother.”

“We can see the top of your shoulders!”

“Surely, you don’t plan to go out without a scarf over your dress!”

Dís only smiled and tilted her head. “Of course I will do no such thing, I don’t intend be all sweaty and hot at the end of the evening, like I was a few years ago when we last held such a banquet!”

 

Bilbo couldn’t say which of Dís’s children looked more scandalized.

In all honestly, the hobbit thought Dís’s dress quite respectable. In Hobbiton the ladies tended to show more cleavage on special occasions. But he could not suppress a smile when the king offered a solution.

“True … well, maybe we should find somebody to protect your mother, when none of us has the chance. We can’t have a princess of the Durin line gawped at by everybody.”

Kíli nodded enthusiastically at that idea. And Fíli piped up – even as his mother and grandfather had made their way down the hall – sure, one of the guards would be good. “A guard could look all mean and imposing and nobody would dare to come close to mother!”

Sharing a quick glance with his husband, Thorin looked a little weird at the moment, but Bilbo’s concentration was on the boys when he asked innocently. “And the two of you really think that Dwalin would allow ANYBODY to look at your mother from a radius of less than five feet, no matter what she wears?”

Clearly the two princes did not enjoy being beaten by a logical argument in their attempts to protect their mother’s virtue. Disgruntled, they followed after their kin.

 

Bilbo and Thorin followed slowly, which allowed Bilbo to ask in private, “What kind of endearment is ‘mizimith’?”

Sighing slightly, Thorin looked at his family and tried to come up with a suitable translation. He was no scribe, so the words in Khuzdul did not necessarily have a clear translation into the Common Tongue in his mind. Still for his husband he tried. “Well, literally it means ‘jewel that is young’, I guess you could translate it as ‘little gem’ or something similarly precious.”

After a little while he added, “Before … before the fall of Erebor, father called me ‘umzam’. Like ‘precious jewel’. But it stopped after a while. When Frerin was born, father adored him, and with the birth of Fíli and Kíli, I guess I was not that precious to him anymore. While I had been the heir to our family before, I am now expendable to him.”

“What … how …?” Bilbo was truly thunderstruck and pulled Thorin to a stop, asking in astonishment, “How can you say, how can you even THINK that you are expendable to your father?”

Shrugging evasively, clearly not fond of that topic, Thorin explained, “Well, what other reason could there be for him to send me to the Shire so easily? He knew that I would do anything to gain the hobbits’ sympathy. Nobody knew better than me what was at stake!”

 

“Thorin, I … by everything that is sacred, that is the STUPIDEST thing I have EVER heard from you!” Bilbo cried agitatedly. “Do you even have the faintest idea how your father looks at you during council sessions?”

Before Thorin could shrug the idea off, Bilbo raised his hand, to keep his husband from interrupting him. “I know that I have only attended very few of these sessions, but whenever – and I mean every single time – you speak, offering a solution to a particular problem, or just to give one of these heard-headed Lords a set-down, your father looks at you as if you were a gift from your maker.

“Whatever you say, whatever you suggest, your father has your back one hundred percent! Not once in all my time I have been here have I ever heard the king contradict you in public, while you do so on occasion.

“True, you are respectful and discreet, but still, you are much more critical toward your father’s decisions than the other way round. To the outside word, the two of you present a united front and once the two of you are in agreement, nobody ever dares to contradict. So, keeping that in mind, how can you say that you are not important to your father?”

 

Looking at his husband in silent amazement, Thorin tried to remember the last sessions of the council. They had been long and boring and more often than not Thorin had wished to be elsewhere. But now that Bilbo mentioned it, he could not think of a single time when his father had not taken his advice.

Looking down at his husband a little sheepishly, he smiled tentatively when Bilbo reached out to cup his cheek, bringing their foreheads together.

Softly the hobbit whispered, “I know that Thráin is not very vocal when it comes to his feelings. I think that this is a trait most of your family shares, because as little as I have heard him giving compliments or offer sentiment, you are no better. When was the last time you told your father that you love him, Thorin? I know that it’s not something children tell their parents every day, it should rather be the other way around, but sometimes even parents need to hear it, especially fathers of strong-minded sons. Believe me, I know.”

Smiling a little because his husband had more or less cut the chase, Thorin brushed his lips over his hobbit’s palm and whispered, “It was the same for you?”

Nodding slightly, stepping in to hug his dwarf, Bilbo remembered, “When I was young, around the time I started to explore the strange, wide world, my father would often berate me for my carelessness and naivety when it came to dangers. That went so far that my mother found me crying, convinced that my own dad didn’t love me.

“She explained to me that as a respectable Baggins, my father often hid his feelings behind a gruff front, especially when he was worried. When my mother was at the market or travelled to another part of the Shire on her own, visiting family, it was my father who patched me up when I had fallen and scuffed myself. Mother explained to me that he berated me for my adventures so often, because he only saw the hurt that came from them, never the magic they revealed to me.

“So I started making books, I painted pictures of forest clearings and streams. I glued in flowers and herbs, labelling them carefully. When I showed the book to my father in the evening, he helped me to write down my adventures so that I could share them with others. It got a lot better after that, because I loved him for his effort and told him so. No matter if you know that you are loved, it’s good to hear it now and then, isn’t it?”

Hugging his husband fiercely, burying his face in Bilbo’s golden locks, Thorin only nodded, thinking about how much he would give to hear it from this special hobbit. But it was not possible, not now, maybe not ever, so he had to find a way to improve the relationship with his father and be content with what he had with Bilbo. He knew the hobbit liked him and treasured his company. Truly, that had to be enough.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

The others had waited for them, so that all six of them could enter the great banquet hall together.

For a moment Bilbo was blinded by the flames of thousands of candles. Now he knew why he was not wearing a waistcoat and why Thorin had advised him against an undershirt. If this hall was full, it would be blazing hot. Suddenly Dís’s reference to being all hot at the end of the evening made sense.

Dutifully the family lined up and for the next hour guests were greeted and hospitably referred to Dori and his staff to be seated. To Bilbo it was all a blur of faces and names, and though he had gotten to know all of the council members and guild masters over the last months, there surely were other ‘important people’ he obviously needed to become acquainted with.

One particular dwarf, with flaming red hair and piercing green eyes, stood out amongst the masses, because he not only ignored him point-blank, but also sneered down his long nose at Bilbo. His hair was artistically done with numerous golden beads, yet with the unusual colour and the green eyes Bilbo couldn’t push from his mind the comparison to a witch, or in this case a warlock.

But when Thorin looked down at him with worry, due to the dwarf’s rude behaviour, Bilbo just smiled and shook his head. Really, there was no use in becoming agitated about people who didn’t even know him.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

When the banquet started, Bilbo had to admit that Bombur had really outdone himself and he shared this opinion vocally with his immediate neighbours. Thorin only smiled and offered glass after glass of a delicious wine, Kíli on Bilbo’s other side teased the hobbit about how he could fancy a meal with so little greens.

When the next course was a salad, the joke was on Kíli, but as the young dwarf dutifully consumed it, Bilbo refrained from saying anything.

 

After more than an hour, musicians picked up some instruments and started playing. At the beginning it was a nice and easy tune, just to get the guests into the spirit of the evening – as if the sumptuous meal and the numerous packages that were waiting for the guests had not been enough – and were now approaching the part where they changed a banquet into a celebration.

Over the low music the king held a flaming speech of how much luck they had had with the newest addition to their family and how the negotiations with the Shire had proven to benefit both parties. Then, after a signal from the king, the little packages were opened, each having inside a colourful gem and one golden coin with a mountain on one side and the picture of a rose on the other. When Bilbo admired the craftsmanship, Thorin explained that the mountain stood for the dwarrows and the flower for the hobbits and that this year’s present had been coined in honour of their wedding.

Bilbo’s smile was equally joyful and embarrassed when all the dwarrows in the hall drank to his and Thorin’s health.

And then there was dancing.

As Thorin had predicted, the king asked his daughter to accompany him to the dance floor and within moments both Thráin and Dís glided over the parquet.

After a few moments, his husband nudged him. Fíli and Kíli had rose as well, dutifully asking two young lady-dwarrows to accompany them.

Just when they were about to join the dance, a harsh voice interrupted them: “You can’t be serious. First you bring this … this halfling,” the word truly was spat out, “to our midst, you marry him off to your son, give him a seat in the council, and now you even allow him to join the royal family in the traditional dance? He is not even a dwarf!”

At that accusation the whole hall was so silent that you could have heard a pin drop. All eyes turned towards the royals.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 


	37. A Challenge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's see how our beloved Durins and their hobbit deal with such a rude dwarf.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, I am doing something very mean today. I am going to leave you hanging with this chapter and then go on holiday until next friday. And if I return from a three hour drive I am not even sure if I will make it to the computer, so you might have to wait for the next chapter for a whole week, because I don't know if I will have internet-connection in my hotel.  
> I would say I am sorry but *har har har har har* :).

Instinctively the Durins enclosed their hobbit loosely, trying to protect him from whatever wrath might befall him from this malicious dwarf. But Bilbo would have none of that. Another dwarf insulting the king, _his king_ on his behalf? No respectable Baggins would ever have that!

Squeezing the hand of his husband before letting go, Bilbo tried to step out of the protective circle of his family, confronting the other directly, for he obviously was the target of this dwarf’s anger.

The red-haired, green-eyed dwarf stepped onto the dance floor and approached Bilbo, his eyes ablaze with fury.

“Bilbo, …” Of course the king tried to hold back his son-in-law. Obviously Thráin was more than ready to defend him, but the hobbit just looked up at him and begged in a low voice, so that only the king would hear him. “Please, Thráin, we had that coming. That’s what you have trained me for, now have faith in the teachers you assigned me and allow me to handle this myself. We won’t win anything if you don’t allow me to defend myself.”

Slightly reluctant, the king pulled back the hand he had placed on Bilbo’s shoulder for support, addressing the other dwarf, “Yes, Master Lothur, he is married to my son and therefore has the right to claim a position within our family as well as in our council. I am aware that you would prefer having this place for yourself, but his right takes precedence by virtue of marriage. All this is in accordance to our traditions; if you have any doubt, Master Kiron would surely be willing to share the corresponding texts with you.”

Bilbo picked up the prompt and demanded, “I am Bilbo Baggins of the Shire, and if you have a problem with me, I would be very grateful if you would address me directly, rather than dismissing me publicly. I am the royal consort after all.”

Looking down at the hobbit, Master Lothur snarled, “And what would I want to talk to you about? You know nothing about our traditions. You can’t fight. You can’t even grow a proper beard!”

Smiling inwardly, Bilbo retorted, “Well you are absolutely right about the beard, I am afraid that no matter how old I get, I won’t grow one. But shouldn’t that be a matter concerning only my husband and myself?

“Anyway, when it comes to dwarven traditions and their history, I know that the noble family I wedded into started with Durin the Deathless whose greatest accomplishment was the construction of the magnificent city of Khazad-Dûm, now known as Moria. He was born in the first age and was – aside from others whose names are lost – succeeded by Durin the fifth, who was killed by the Balrog in the 1980 of the Third Age.

“The line of succession went as follows: Náin I, Thráin I whose noble name our king bears, Thorin I – to whose namesake I am married. Thorin I’s descendants were Gloín I, then there was Óin I who was followed by Náin II – if you think about it, your line of ancestry clearly was very fond of their names,” Bilbo winked at the king who had relaxed considerably, now that Bilbo had proven himself of standing his ground against this obnoxious dwarf, showing the most basic knowledge of their history.

Aware that his opponent wanted to say something Bilbo raised his hand, “I’m not through yet. There was Dáin I and his brother Borin, children to Náin II. Borin’s son was Farin who sired Fundin, who – as I have been told – died during the attack on Moria, and Gróin. The later sired the healer Óin who in the Shire traded recipes I had not even known about, with my grandmother, and Glóin who rarely leaves Princess Dís’s side, with royal banquets and evenings with his wife and son Gimli as only exception. The formerly mentioned Lord Fundin sired Master Balin who serves this court as First Councillor, and Dwalin who to my knowledge is tasked with keeping my dear husband safe.

Dáin I’s children were Thrór who was the father of our respected king Thráin. Then there was Frór, about whom I have no further knowledge; and the youngest one Grór sired Náin III, the father of Dain II, who, as far as I know, now rules the dwarrows of the Iron Hills in the west.

“Our king’s father Thrór was Dáin’s firstborn, and the rest of the family are right here surrounding me, with the exception of prince Frerin, may the Maker keep his soul.

“So though I might not know everything that is important for now, I am learning and I am making an effort. And considering that I am a small, beardless hobbit, I would say that this is an approach showing my respect and appreciation for my new family and people.”

Having held their breaths though this speech, now that the royal consort was finished, the entire hall erupted in cheers and when Bilbo glanced at Master Kiron, who had his place at one of the front tables, the dwarf merely nodded his head in approval. Obviously the hobbit recited all the kings and successions without mistake, proving his respect for his new people by honouring their history.

Stepping up to the other dwarf, Bilbo glared up at the red-head and stated, “I may not be a dwarf but I can learn what’s important. And when you dismiss my ‘non-existent’ fighting skills, watch out, Master Lothur, for this sounds an awful lot like a challenge.”

 

Having lost his footing when the whole kingdom cheered for the hobbit, Lothur merely snarled, “And what if it is? You are …”

“It’s accepted,” Bilbo interrupted the unpleasant dwarf, not willing to hear more insults from such an imbecile. “Tomorrow, at noon. That gives us both ample time to rest after this lovely feast and we wouldn’t want to deny the kingdom the chance to witness how you deal with ‘a simple hobbit’.”

With an outraged growl, the dwarf merely turned on his heel and stormed off, giving his family and friends time to fuss over Bilbo.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

Just like on his first day in the Blue Mountains, when he had stopped Thráin from insulting him by calling him a ‘halfling’, Bilbo started to feel jittery as soon as the confrontation was over. Dutifully he danced the appropriate time with his husband, before excusing himself. When Thorin asked if he should follow, Bilbo merely shook his head and asked for a few moments alone.

Stepping out of the hall into the much colder corridor, the hobbit shivered a little. Still he made his way towards one of the balconies that surrounded the ceremonial rooms. Obviously this hall was usually used for gatherings and it was common practise to excuse oneself at some point to step out for a smoke or some quiet time.

When he saw the dark land stretched out before the mountain and the stars shimmering above, Bilbo shivered slightly and wished desperately for his pipe to calm his frazzled nerves. He was grateful when one was offered and took a deep drag before returning it. To and fro the pipe was passed before the ember died and it was put away again.

It took Bilbo a few additional moments to gather himself, before he said, “You have a lot of faith in my skills, my friend.”

With a smile the auburn-haired dwarf turned towards his trainee. “I do, but even more so, I know how Master Lothur is fighting. He prides himself on being a ‘real’ dwarf, fighting with axe and hammer. But he trains no more than two times a week for no longer than an hour. He is strong but slow. He is no match for you, Bilbo.”

“Is that why you encouraged me to take his challenge?” Bilbo had seen the nod Nori had given him, as soon as Lothur had indicated a challenge.

“Yes, that, and it is due time for you to start fighting publicly.” With a sigh Nori turned around, leaning against the railing so that he could overlook the hallway. “You want to protect your family, so you have to make a name for yourself. Master Lothur is an easy target. He is a traditionalist and greedy with very few supporters. The kingdom needed his skill and his money, but not enough to assign him a place in the council.

“His father used to hold such a position, in substitute for his lost wife. But Lothur is a child born into the second marriage. Council positions are transferred by bloodline, so he has no right to it. Though the rules may be somewhat fuzzy after our arrival here, and may have allowed the king some leniency, Lothur is a very unpleasant person and His Royal Highness had used the opportunity not to give him a seat in the council, even though his father died by Smaug.

“Lothur has never shown himself supportive towards any of us. He was in Dale when the dragon attacked, hid in a cellar and when he finally crawled out, he took with him all the gold he had stored there. He never shared, always only looked out for himself. People will love seeing you rising to a challenge, showing yourself all dwarvish, honouring our traditions. They will love you even more, when you lecture this greedy, selfish dwarf.”

Sighing slightly, Bilbo pondered, “You know, Nori, sometimes you scare me, by knowing almost too much about what’s going on here.”

 

“What scares you?” Thorin obviously had only heard the last part of the conversation, entering the balcony with Kíli’s jacket in hand to wrap it around his hobbit. He too wore his fur-lined coat, hugging his husband from behind to warm him.

Before Bilbo could say anything, Nori piped up, “Surely not this Master Lothur, he will be no match for Bilbo, I can assure you, Master Thorin.”

Throwing Nori a worried glance, the prince shook his head. “I know that you are responsible for my husband’s training, Nori, and I really appreciate it, I do, but I am still worried. Lothur prefers axe and hammer over sword or dagger. How will Bilbo defend himself against that?”

“With skill,” Nori replied, before bowing respectfully, returning to the banquet. He had complete faith that Bilbo would rise to the challenge. And the fact that Dís had handed him his ‘Yule present’ for Bilbo three days ago, surely didn’t hurt.

 

Thorin stood wrapped around Bilbo for quite a while. He really didn’t fancy the idea of his husband fighting, though he had been aware that this would be necessary sooner rather than later. He was not even sure who he was trying to comfort, Bilbo or himself, by rubbing the hobbit’s arms and staying close to him.

When Bilbo finally turned around, the hobbit smoothed the crinkles on his forehead with a tender smile. “Don’t do that or it will stay that way.”

Kissing his husband’s fingers, Bilbo asked quietly so as to not disturb the quiet night, “Do you trust me, Thorin?”

“With my life, that of my family and all the dwarrows of our kingdom. You know that!”

Caressing his dwarf tenderly, Bilbo whispered, “Then trust me in this, Thorin. I can beat this dwarf. If Nori has faith in me, I have no doubts. He can be as tall and strong and posh as he wants. In the end I am a small hobbit, I could sneak up on a dragon. He won’t defeat me, and I will teach him a lesson of how he should talk to members of the royal family.”

“You too are a member of the royal family,” Thorin reminded him, and Bilbo smiled up at him deviously.

“Exactly!”

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

Even though Bilbo seemed quite confident, the ‘challenge’ put a damper on Thorin’s mood for the rest of the evening. For a little while Fíli and Kíli shared his worried stance, but then, as Bilbo confirmed for the umpteenth time that he would be alright – honestly, what was the worst this dwarven lord could do to him? – both princes returned to enjoy the festivities and danced and laughed quite goodnaturedly, pushing the worries from their minds to deal with them tomorrow.

Bilbo too seemed to enjoy the evening: he danced with both princes as well as their mother. After Bilbo, Dís was expected to dance with nearly every council member and one time even with Gloin, who decided that if he had to tail Dís all through the year, he should get a treat for it now and then. And being seen dancing with such a beautiful lady-dwarf was a true honour.

How much honour he had gathered for himself was noticeable only to his friends, for when he asked his wife to dance, as soon as Dís had changed partners, Gilla obviously gave him a hard time, ignoring him on purpose. Only when the guard fell to his knee in front of her, asking her in a loud voice if the most beautiful dwarf-lady in the hall would honour him beyond measure by dancing with him, she seemed pacified. The pair ignored their son’s embarrassment at his parents’ public scene.

Thorin asked Bilbo for a dance whenever he got the chance, which was sadly rare, since every female dwarf seemed to use the chance to get a dance with his hobbit. Not that Thorin was not glad that Bilbo was so popular, it was just that … after everything that had happened, he desired some time alone with his husband.

It was long past midnight when Bilbo sat by his side again, content and a bit sleepy for all the excitement he had been subjected to. When Thorin asked him if he wanted to leave, Bilbo just nodded tiredly. So, after lengthy farewells to all the important guests, Thorin guided his husband out of the hall.

At Bilbo’s request, they stepped out onto one of the balconies once again and for several moments, they both simply enjoyed the fresh air and calm night.

It took Thorin a little while to admit, “I am scared for you, Bilbo.”

“I understand, Thorin. I guess it would be the same for me, were our positions reversed, though I know that you are a much better fighter than I am. But I have to do this, it’s not enough for your people to like me, I have to earn their respect as well.

“Few remember the reason for my being here, choosing to think about other matters now that starvation is no longer an impending threat; some didn’t know in the first place, some simply don’t want to think about it. I have to prove myself worthy to stand by your side, and even if I lose tomorrow, Dís told me that it’s not important. What matters is that I was willing to rise to the challenge like every other dwarf would in my place. That I didn’t hide behind you and your family, like this foolish Lord obviously had expected.”

Smiling a little to himself, the hobbit added as an afterthought, “The fact that he is, as Nori said, not that good a fighter just makes this easier. Were somebody like Dwalin or Gloin offering a challenge, I would think twice about it. But if Nori tells me I can do this, then I can. He’s my friend, and my trainer. He knows what I am capable of and he wouldn’t lie to me.”

Shaking his head, Thorin pulled Bilbo even closer, resting his chin on his husband’s copper curls. “No, he wouldn’t. Lie, I mean. Not to us. Not to you.”

And with that the subject was exhausted. They returned to their quarters, dipped into the tub quickly to get rid of all the smoke and the sweat and fell into bed.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

Despite all his put-on bravado, Bilbo felt jittery the next morning when he prepared breakfast.

He had found a small package on the table this morning. Not remembering putting anything there, Bilbo reached for it and read the card. It simply read, ‘A present for the Royal Consort. Nothing short of silver would ever do.’

Opening the package, he laughed out loud: three conkers lay inside, forged from pure silver, with holes in the middle and strings rolled up around them. Bilbo didn’t doubt for a second that this present had come from Nori, who had taken great delight in learning how to play this game after their training sessions. He had challenged Bilbo to hit several training dummies with the nuts, just like he used to demand target practice with the delicate throwing knives Dís had forged for her brother-in-law.

For the hobbit it was still uncomfortable to hit anything with a sharp blade, but he had accepted it as inevitable. Still, the better his aim got, the easier he felt, gaining confidence that he would not kill anybody by accident. He could choose to hit vital spots … or not. But striking a target was still easier for him with the conkers. He always hit his target point blank with them. Then again, in  the end he would get there with the throwing knives as well. All this training was for being able to defend his family, and today he would finally put it to good use.

To get rid of his nervous energy, he put on the eggs and then started juggling with his silver conkers to keep his hands busy. First two in one hand, then three with both, then back to two with one hand because he had to flip over the bread he was roasting in a pan and stir the eggs so that they would not burn.

When Thorin entered the kitchen, he watched his husband in amazement for a little while, before asking, “Where did you get these? And more importantly, what are they? They look like some kind of nuts.”

Smiling, Bilbo asked him to set the table and once they were seated and digging into an opulent, albeit late, breakfast, the hobbit explained. About Nori, how he had gotten frustrated with him, how they had started to play conkers after their lessons and how he had been the undefeated champion in the Shire ten years in a row until his cousin Otho had beaten him. Everybody had congratulated Otho. At least until they had found out that he had soaked his conkers in vinegar – something that made them harder – and the hobbit had lost his title of conkers champion.

“He was taking this awfully seriously, don’t you think?” Thorin laughed, thinking about Otho’s face at being called a cheater.

But Bilbo waved his butter knife at him and deadpanned, “Conkers IS serious! Don’t knock the nuts.”

It took Thorin a moment to get the joke and then he was laughing goodnaturedly, with Bilbo joining in after a moment. Dangling the heavy string, the dwarf decided, “If the goal is to crush your opponent’s conker, THIS is definitely cheating.”

But Bilbo swiftly took the string from him and put it into his pocket, baring his teeth at the dwarf. “I would never, ever cheat at conkers. These are for practise. And now off you go, I am sure your father or sister or whoever is dying to talk to you about what your husband has gotten himself into.”

 

As ordered, Thorin rose from his seat, just to turn around at the door one last time. Worriedly he asked, “Are you sure that you want to do this, Bilbo? There are ways, you know, you are not a dwarf, you could call for a champion to fight in your place.”

Smoothing his husband’s forehead tenderly, Bilbo reminded him, “This is about me making a name for myself, showing these hard-headed dwarrows that I am able to stand up for myself. It won’t do to let you or anybody else take my place, and you know that.”

Leaning into Bilbo’s caress for a moment, Thorin nodded before leaving. He was well aware that he would go stir-crazy if he restricted himself to their rooms. Bilbo seemed calm enough, so he went to see his father, talking though what was about to happen and its possible consequences in case of Bilbo’s success or failure.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

Thráin seemed a lot calmer than Thorin, and Balin at his side elaborated in detail why Bilbo’s idea was good. Too many dwarrows saw a liability in the hobbit, for he would never understand their ways and their traditions. That Bilbo was getting well versed in their history had been proven yesterday, and Thorin had taken a lot of pride in his husband reciting his ancestry in such detail.

True, this was a lesson every child learned at the very beginning of his history lessons, but still, for a hobbit it was impressive. It was a first step into the right direction, proving to all the sceptics that Bilbo was truly making an effort. Still, seeing his husband facing a dwarf who had been fighting with axe and hammer for longer than the hobbit had been alive didn’t sit well with Thorin.

What if Bilbo got hurt, or worse, injured? What if the hammer hit his head? What would happen then?

For the first time since meeting Bilbo, Thorin wished fervently that they had stayed in the Shire. Obviously a very competitive conkers match was the worst that could have happened there. The memories of _much_ worse things happening there were resolutely pushed from Thorin’s mind in favour of worrying about his husband.

Realizing that nothing they could say would calm Thorin down, the king and his advisor returned to their respective documents, letting the prince rant and pace around the room agitatedly.

When midday approached, Thorin was really out of his mind, having spent his time going over ‘worst case scenarios’ that had got more and more fantastic with each moment.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

As expected, the big hall was filled to bursting. Every last inhabitant of the Blue Mountains seemed to be eager to watch the royal consort fight. The only one missing seemed to be the contender.

The challenger, Master Lothur made a big show of stepping into the circle that had been prepared for the fight. He wore shiny armour that was free of any dents or scratches.

Thorin sneered at the thought. This dwarf surely had not had any need to fight for the last decades, maybe not even before that, for a true warrior cherished every scratch and every dent since it was the proof of a fight won. Lothur had bought his place within the merchants’ guild, providing more money than anybody else after their exile.

All of a sudden Thorin reminded himself that Bilbo had not worn his own armour this morning. Should he go and fetch it? Or would Bilbo have remembered to put it on? Should he dash to their quarters to make sure? But he didn’t want to miss the fight, in case Bilbo suddenly appeared out of the blue and needed his support.

As expected, after a few moments of prancing, Master Lothur decided, “Obviously the man you have chosen for your son, my king, doesn’t feel the need to honour a formal challenge. THAT is a very rude thing to do.”

Before the king got a chance for any reply, a voice could be heard over the muttering of the crowd. “I would never do such a thing, but I have to admit that I am late. That was very disrespectful and we can’t have that, Master Lothur. So I apologize, to you as well as to His Majesty. But in my defence: a friend kept me.”

 

And with that calm explanation, Bilbo entered the middle of the ring. A black raveness was perched on his shoulder, eyeing the red-headed dwarf with open curiosity.

 

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yea, I'm evil.
> 
> This chapter was honoured why a picture of the gorgeous teaDragon who allowed me to insert it into my story. The original work can be found here:
> 
> <http://teaxdragon.tumblr.com/post/77257220813/scene-from-anchanees-series-serve-your-happiness>
> 
> Thank you very, very much, that is incredibly cute!


	38. Short and Painless ... mostly

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alight, I am a sucker for all of your compliments. So here comes the fight!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Despite being home early I have just had 4 wonderful days. Husband and child were skiing and I had the chance to write something out of my head that is not fanfiction. It was harder than I thought but so far I am quite proud of myself that I managed. I have to admit that I will now have to devide my freetime between Serve and Obey and "Wardens of Darkness" (cool title, admit it). I am not sure that I will post it, well maybe I will because I need a beta-reader (desperately!) but in the end it is not fanfiction so it might not be of any interrest to any of you.  
> Never mind, I am glad do be back and am looking forward to read your thoughts on this one. 
> 
> Entrance: Bilbo (with raven on top) ;).

As soon as Thorin had left him, Bilbo let out a deep breath and allowed a shiver of nerves running through his frame. He was not that much better off than his husband, yet the hobbit was aware that showing his worries would only alarm Thorin all the more, so he had kept himself together until his dwarf had left.

Now he took a few calming breaths and prepared another cup of tea before seeing to the dishes. After everything was cleaned and put away, Bilbo realized that there still was more than an hour left before he was supposed to fight.

Aware that lingering would only increase his unease, Bilbo took his weapons, including the conkers, put on his armour – because anything else would be plain stupid – chose a warm coat and cloak and left his rooms.

He had no desire to talk to any of his friends: to hear that he would be alright, even when nobody could really know for sure, was more than he could take right now. Nobody, with the exception of Dwalin and Nori, had seen him fighting. So he chose to visit a friend who would neither mind him rambling about what was about to come, nor really care about it. At most she would encourage him because his ‘croaking’ would entertain the hatchlings.

He made a quick dash to the kitchen, and Bombur didn’t even lift an eyebrow any more when Bilbo asked for some entrails. And so, with a heavy pouch Bilbo made his way through the inner valleys.

 

Everything was silent and peaceful. Snow had covered the land with a thick blanket, swallowing most sounds. Though the sky was grey, Bilbo enjoyed being outside. In the Shire he would have spent his days shovelling snow from his front porch, going sleigh-riding with his little uncle Isengar – who would this year surely be old enough to sit upright, enjoying slay riding – as well as his numerous cousins. He would chop wood to keep his smial warm and cosy, only to sit in there afterwards, writing in one of his books or reading another with nothing but his papers as company.

Sighing slightly, Bilbo closed his eyes and turned his face towards the sky, letting the snow melt on his heated cheeks. The memories of the Shire, what he would have been doing, with his family, were bitter-sweet. He had always enjoyed taking care of the fauntlings. He had even enjoyed the calm of his smial after an afternoon of excitement, but in the evenings, when the snow had settled or the wind howled, he would think of the people he had lost there, and he really didn’t like that. Things in the Blue Mountains might not be perfect but it was better than being a bachelor alone in a smial that was far too big for him.

Here everything was much more exciting. He had people: a new family and numerous friends, who cared about him. But sometimes he couldn’t help but wish for days of solitude without end, where he could get lost in his own head, forgetting meal after meal while writing, until his stomach reminded him of his most basic needs. Maybe Thorin by his side wouldn’t be too bad, he could bring him tea and remind him to make lunch, and in the evenings he would not have to go to bed alone.

With a sigh Bilbo realized that that was the only thing he could never give up: Thorin. The dwarf had wormed his way into his heart. Bilbo cherished him above all others, and wouldn’t want to miss him.

 

Entering a familiar valley, he soon was surrounded by birds circling him expectantly. They all knew that Bilbo never came without a treat and although he had offered wide basins filled with fat and seeds, they still relished the fresh meat more.

As always, Vár was the first to eat and the first to abandon the treats. She had told Bilbo once that it was her ‘duty’ to make sure that the meat was alright, before allowing her flock to indulge in it. That and the fact that Bilbo _always_ brought something special just for her, allowed the raveness to sit calmly on the hobbit’s knee, watching he family feed themselves, even though this feeding usually ended in them fighting over the offerings.

When Bilbo had mentioned that once, Vár had only shrugged – how a raven could shrug still eluded Bilbo but his raveness managed – and had explained, “No hunting now, fighting good for them.” And while the hobbit had not understood what she meant, he had accepted the explanation and had continued to offer her treats, before she could claw through his trousers.

 

Today Vár only looked at the nuts and then at Bilbo, tilting her head, fixing the hobbit with her piercing glare.

After a little while of ignoring the raveness’s stare, the hobbit caved and started to talk. Recalling what had happened, Bilbo shared his anger about how this imbecile had talked to the king, how shockingly ill-mannered he had been about his and Thorin’s marriage, and briefly even about how he had insulted Bilbo himself.

“More angry about flock, than about yourself?”

Having become kind of an expert in deciphering Vár’s sentences, Bilbo nodded. “Yes, he was utterly disrespectful and it hurts that my family gets treated that way because of me.”

“Not you … him.”

That took Bilbo a moment, and in the end he asked, “You are saying that it’s not because of me that my family gets insulted but because of this dwarf?”

As always, when the hobbit was correct, Vár saw no need to confirm his words, only angled herself towards Bilbo’s pouch, fishing out the satchel that usually held her treats.

Feeding the raveness nuts he had brought, Bilbo thought about her words. It was not his fault that that dwarf had insulted his family. That had been his opponent’s doing. Why should he feel responsible for the stupidity of others? In the Shire he would have brushed something like that off in an instant. So what was different here?

Neither Thráin, nor Thorin or Dís had indicated for a single second that it had been Bilbo’s fault that Master Lothur had behaved like … well, that he had behaved like a very rude dwarf. And Nori … well, Nori had concentrated on what Bilbo would need to know to win this challenge. So nothing else would do but showing this dwarf that he could not treat the Durins that way! Least of all under the pretext of Bilbo being unworthy of is new family. And that was it in the end: Bilbo hated the very thought that he was not good enough for the dwarrows. He tried so very hard to be, and his husband and the rest of his family always encouraged him and showed him that they were proud of him for his efforts.

Looking up at the sky, Bilbo noticed that midday was approaching. So he picked up his little bag, ready to return to the mountain. Yet Vár remained stubbornly perched on his knee, consuming the last treats before taking off and allowing him to rise.

 

Bilbo made his way back to the mountain as fast as he could, not wanting to make a bad impression by being too late, all the while knowing that it was more or less inevitable. Confounded bird for keeping him!

Yet the hobbit couldn’t supress a smile when aforementioned bird landed on his shoulder, before he entered the mountain. When Bilbo turned his head towards her, looking at her inquiringly, she merely nipped on one of his locks, brushing the snow away from them, simply stating, “Friend. Helping!”

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

And that’s how it came to be that a hobbit entered the great hall with a female raven on his shoulder, apologizing sweetly to an opponent whose eyes seemed to pop out of his head. Every dwarf in the mountain was aware that the ravens here were far less sociable than the ones in Erebor. So having one amongst them was viewed as a tremendous honour. Seeing one on the royal consort’s shoulder was … absolutely unheard of, especially when the consort was not even a dwarf. Nobody really knew what to make of it.

 

Looking around, Bilbo realized for the first time how much awe a simple raven could instil in the spectators. Vár, however, seemed oblivious to the attention she was getting, or else, as Bilbo secretly suspected, she very much enjoyed it, yet played it ‘cool’ so as to not lose her superior status: ‘the royalty of birds’ and all that.

After a few moments of observation, she croaked, “No place for running, better make stone heavy and then take what’s precious!” And with that Vár left Bilbo’s shoulder, landing on Thráin’s a moment later, eying his hair for a moment, before starting to groom it.

 

Obviously thrown off of his game, the red-haired dwarf gaped at Bilbo, while the hobbit shrugged off his cloak, offering it to Bofur who stood closest. The dwarf only winked encouragingly, before the hobbit turned towards his opponent.

Before Master Lothur could raise his weapons, Bilbo held up his hands, turning towards the king. In a clear voice he asked, “As this is my first challenge in these Mountains, am I allowed a question before we start, Your Majesty?”

Nodding, the king offered, “Of course, Master Baggins, what would you like to know?”

“Though my education covered the basic rules of a challenge, I would like to know if there is anything I am officially not allowed to do.”

Pondering on the question for a moment, breaking down the rules of duels in his head, Thráin answered, “It’s considered very bad style to kill your opponent.”

Bilbo ignored the sneer from his challenger, inquiring, while glancing at the other dwarf’s hammer. “What about crippling?”

“That has happened on occasion. I’m afraid if you are not avoiding the blows sufficiently, crippling actually is something you should worry about.”

With that Bilbo bowed deeply and turned towards his opponent. He thought briefly about shrugging off his coat, but from the looks of it, every layer of clothing would be good, and he had chosen his most comfortable one on purpose this morning, along with a thick undershirt. That, and of course, Gloin’s armour.

 

Putting his hand on his chest, feeling Thorin’s scale, which he still wore on a string around his neck, digging into his skin, Bilbo took a deep breath. He was doing this for his husband, to show himself worthy of standing by his side. He could do this! Pushing all other thoughts from his mind, Bilbo concentrated on his foe. Nori had explained to him how important it was to know your enemy, so the hobbit used the first few moments of the fight to watch how the dwarf was moving. As his teacher had predicted, he was strong but slow, so Bilbo had no problem twisting out of the weapons’ range, whenever he was attacked.

After a short while, the dwarf was breathing heavily, weighted down not only by his lazy lifestyle, but also by the unfamiliar armour he was wearing. Bilbo could see that it had been made for him, but still, the buckles and strings were too new to have adapted to the movements of its wearer and made it even more strenuous for the dwarf to move.

Soon the great hall was buzzing with excitement, for nobody had truly expected a hobbit to hold his ground against a dwarf. A brief glance towards Nori told Bilbo that he had put up good enough of a show. Gripping his dagger more firmly – he had so far refrained from using it – Bilbo reached into his pocket and let two of his new conkers fall to the floor.

He would not allow a close combat until he was absolutely sure that he would have the upper hand. Everything else was just reckless. So circling his opponent, as he had done several times already, the hobbit made sure that Lothur stood in front of the silver nuts before starting his first attack. True, they were without force and too superficial, but still it got the dwarf to react and raise his weapons.

Bilbo used that opportunity to kick the red-head on the knee, making him sneer. The hobbit might not be strong enough to fell him with such an attack, but he managed to derail his opponent, make him step back. As Bilbo had hoped, the dwarf lost his footing on one of his conkers, and Bilbo used the opportunity for another attack that made him fall.

Every last dwarf in the hall seemed to hold his breath, when Master Lothur’s head connected loudly with the stone floor, leaving him dizzy.

Aware that he would not get another chance, Bilbo had his dagger on his challenger’s throat in an instant, rendering him immobile by digging his knee into the other’s sternum. Glad that this would go much easier than expected, Bilbo dug his blade a little deeper into the skin, opening a shallow cut, hissing angrily, “THIS is for insulting me in public.”

Removing the blade but keeping the knee in place, effectively keeping the other from drawing a deep breath, he placed his blade at the dwarf’s cheek, repeating the process of cutting him, considerably deeper this time. This would definitely leave a scar. In a clear voice, so that everybody could hear, he stated, “THIS is for insulting my husband!”

Finally Bilbo reached for the dwarfs richly decorated beard and raised it, evoking a strangled sound from his foe. Loudly he announced, “And THIS is for questioning king Thráin’s decisions.”

At his last word, Bilbo cut of the beads and about a half of the dwarf’s beard; looking up to the king if this would suffice.

When Thráin declared, “The challenge is won,” Bilbo rose and left behind a scandalized dwarf who reached for his shortened beard helplessly.

Offering the cut-off hair to the king – something Thráin accepted gracefully – Bilbo turned around one last time.

After an encouraging nod from Nori he raised his voice, proclaiming, “ **I** am the royal consort. And I am a hobbit. I was raised differently from you, but still I will always do my best to respect your traditions and learn your ways. But if you challenge me or insult my family, don’t expect me to act like a dwarf and spare the things most precious to you, for I _will not_!”

 

After a moment of breathless silence, the entire hall erupted in cheers. Obviously the idea of a royal consort, who would go to any lengths to protect his family, was favoured by the dwarrows of these Mountains over anybody who was a dwarf by birth but did not know his place.

His family were the first to congratulate him on his victory. Then he was surrounded by his friends and many others whom Bilbo was not even able to name afterwards. The cheering lasted much longer than the actual fight, but Bilbo guessed that in matters of popularity he had done a lot of good today, cementing his position as a respected member of the court.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

It was long past lunch when he and Thorin returned to their quarters, so that Bilbo could freshen up and prepare a meal. He was grateful when he found a pot of stew on the stove and fresh bread on the counter. Bilbo started to serve immediately, having Thorin smile at him from across the table.

In his husband’s hand lay two silver nuts. Bilbo had not even thought about picking them up before, but clearly Thorin had remembered, offering them now with a proud smile.

Putting them away, Bilbo avoided his husband’s cheeky question, “So, silver conkers are fighting-nuts, is that right?” by urging him, “Eat before it gets cold!”

 

After a little while, Thorin addressed the obvious. “You were lucky today. Had your opponent been a warrior, your little trick would not have worked.”

With a sigh, Bilbo nodded. “I am aware, my sweet. Believe it or not, I have trained with Dwalin and I know how much harm an axe and a hammer can do when wielded by an expert. In such a case I would have no other chance but to avoid being hit and hope for a lucky shot. But Nori had assured me that Master Lothur was not an expert. So I could make an example out of him.”

“You have made yourself an enemy today, you know that, Bilbo.”

Shrugging, the hobbit, decided, “That was inevitable. I was told that the members of the royal family all have enemies to heed. Why should I be any different?”

Smiling, Thorin told him, “Usually we don’t try to make enemies within our own mountains.”

“I will try to remember that.”

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

It turned out that Bilbo accepting and winning the challenge had a positive effect on everybody he came across. The members of the council, who usually overlooked him when neither the king nor Thorin drew attention to him, watched the royal consort now with caution and they were much more careful with what they said in his presence, even when addressing the royals.

Obviously Vár’s advice to go for something that the dwarrows cherished had been good, since Bilbo could see others fumble with their beards now and then, whenever anybody contradicted an opinion he offered. Only his family and friends remained carefree and unguarded. Nori and Dwalin downright beamed with pride during their next training session and congratulated Bilbo on his clever fighting technique.

Realizing now what the hobbit was comfortable with, Nori intensified their training, concentrating on dodging and tripping an opponent. With Dwalin Bilbo put his new abilities to good use.

January came and went, bringing more snowstorms and heavy frost, and at the end of it the hobbit managed to best his sparring partner for the first time.

It might have been a little mean to take advantage of the distraction Dís presented when entering the training grounds, but Nori had taught Bilbo to fight dirty. So the hobbit used the split-second of Dwalin’s distraction to aim for the hollow of his knee, effectively tripping him so that the hobbit could go in for the ‘kill’. Though slightly embarrassed, Dwalin still congratulated Bilbo on the win.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

Dís, as it turned out, was not there to watch her lover, but talk to her brother-in-law. Apparently rumours had spread that Bilbo and Thorin were planning to overthrow the king. Dumbstruck, the hobbit looked at his sister-in-law, completely lost on how somebody could think something like that.

Worried where this might go, Bilbo joined his family and a few council members in the council chamber and they discussed the gossip. Balin and Master Kiron took their time to explain to Bilbo how the changes in the meal plan, the new sorting system in the library, the adapted plans of the Miners Guild, as well as Bilbo’s overall behaviour would leave the impression that the hobbit planned to take the kingdom for himself. Especially as Thráin had done nothing to contradict these changes, even though the sorting systems in the library and mining methods had been traditional, having been used already in Erebor.

Throwing up his hands in exasperation, Bilbo said, “But that’s entirely untrue! The Master of Mines changed his mining habits all by himself, and I merely explained the sorting sequence of Rivendell to the Master of the Library. I never expected any of them to change the way they work. And for everything that is sacred, I cut of this stupid dwarf’s beard on the second day of Yule, just because he contradicted the king! What more can I do to show my support?”

Thráin’s chuckle lightened the mood considerably. “I still have that piece of beard on my mantelpiece. But this is not about what you actually do, Bilbo, but how people see it. You support me and my people in any way imaginable. But those who are opposed to a hobbit as a royal consort will always find a way to badmouth the situation. You should get used to it.”

 

Sagging against his chair, smiling gratefully at his husband who started to caress Bilbo’s neck to calm him down, the hobbit pouted, “Maybe we should just leave. I mean, Thorin and I are the ‘villains’ in this story. If we go, they don’t have anybody to accuse of treason.”

The Durins were about to protest, when Balin and Kiron exchanged a look. The First Councillor was the one to speak up. “Actually, that might not be such a bad idea.”

“ **What?** ”

Three voices, two incredulous, one slightly hopeful, looked at the white-haired dwarf who explained calmly, “Well, the newlyweds leaving the mountain for a couple of weeks, seeing Bilbo’s family, spending some time in the Shire to improve the relationship between the hobbits and the dwarrows might not be such a bad idea. It would show your faith in your son, Your Highness, and Bilbo and Thorin would be away, leaving the blabbermouths to latch onto another topic.”

Bilbo’s looked doubtfully, and yet hopefully at his husband and asked in a barely audible whisper, “Do you think we could?”

“I don’t know. That depends on my father.” Thorin wanted to sweep Bilbo off his feet right this moment, when seeing his husband fighting down the desperate hope to see his home again. He wished he could wrap Bilbo in a bundle of furs and travel with him to the Shire this very moment, despite the cold and the weather.

But it still had to be the king’s decision.

 

Thorin had spent at least one evening a week with his father ever since Bilbo had set his view of their relationship right. Thráin and he had just talked, first about the affairs of the kingdom, but later, they had shared plans on workpieces, Thorin getting a lot of his father’s input on how to forge headbands, rings and other jewellery for his husband. Thráin in his turn cherished Thorin’s advice on how to carve flowers and vines, combining them with runes that usually decorated their craft. All in all they had come a lot closer during the last month.

Still it was not enough for Thorin to have no doubt about his father’s decision. Both saw that this was what Bilbo wanted, or rather, hoped for. But was it a good idea?

Evaluating the pros and cons, the king came to a decision after a few moments. Nodding at Bilbo, he decided, “You won’t leave before April. Thorin said that his trip to the Shire was wet and unpleasant the first time around and though I hope that you will be able to avoid any storms, you will have to choose your traveling gear accordingly. Furthermore, I don’t wish for the two of you to travel alone. You will take at least two guards with you.”

“Your Majesty,” Bilbo piped up, still not believing his good fortune, but willing to risk it for the boys. “Would … maybe … ahm … could Fíli and Kíli accompany us? My cousin Falco asked me about them. His fauntlings will have their name giving ceremony in the 27th of Astron, I mean April and Falco and Amanda … well they asked me if Fíli and Kíli would be inclined to be godfathers to their fauntlings.”

Sharing glances with his councillors, the king answered, “I will discuss this with their mother and will tell you tomorrow, would that suffice?”

Beaming with joy, Bilbo nodded empathically, “Yes, of course. I will … maybe I should go now, I think Dori is already waiting for me. Or is there anything else I can do to diffuse these rumours?”

But Thráin only shook his head and bade the hobbit his goodbye.

 

As soon as the royal consort had left the room (after stealing one quick kiss form his husband, something all the dwarrows pretended to ignore) the king looked at his son and his advisors. “Hobbits are offering their children to us? That’s a big step in our relationship.”

Balin, however, acted as a voice of reason, “Honestly, Your Highness, I think that the Chubb-Bagginses hope for your grandsons to visit them, rather than the other way around. Master Chubb-Baggins has a thriving wood-workshop set up and can’t leave it for an extended amount of time. But still, considering what I know about the Shirefolk, if something happened to them, Fíli and Kíli would be their successors, caring for the fauntlings until they are old enough to follow their father’s footsteps.”

“That would mean regular travels to the Shire for Fíli and Kíli, maybe even independently from Bilbo and Thorin.”

Now for the first time, Master Kiron spoke up. “Well, Your Majesty, in my opinion that would show the good relationship between our people and the hobbits more than anything else. While I agree with Master Balin that your son and the royal consort visiting Master Bilbo’s home might help diffuse the current crisis, the young Highnesses travelling alone would show better than anything else the faith you have in these hobbits to keep your family safe.”

When the king looked questioningly at Thorin, his son assured him, “Hobbits would rather die than allow anything to happen to their children. Bilbo’s parents, who died to protect him from the wolves, are proof of that. In my opinion there are few places in Middle-earth that are safer for Fíli and Kíli, father.”

Nodding, Thráin stated, “Then it is decided. I will go and talk to their mother.”

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 


	39. Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New developments within the mountains. Caves are remodeled, lessons are attended, there is a lot going on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As warned before, slower updates now. But still I managed to go over Redone's editing and here is the next chapter. Brace yourself, there will be another mean cliffhanger at the end. Should I say sorry in advance? No, better not.

Bilbo was quite jittery the entire afternoon. Dori and even Vár noticed, but the hobbit refused to explain himself, unwilling to jinx the possibility of seeing his home for one last time. It would be hard for him, he was fully aware of that; but he could not leave Bag End without one last good bye, maybe even bring a few more of his things along.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

Fíli and Kíli had been flying through their lessons and weapons training, and every minute they had managed to save that way, they had used to clear the upper caves. It had taken them more than a week, but finally they had a good idea of how extensive the caverns were and had even managed to widen the outlet to the mountain terrace a little. On a clear day, when they had squeezed through for the first time the view had taken their breath away.

The mountain terrace was quite extensive and creeping closer to the edge, they saw a sheer rock face dropping several hundred feet straight down. Nobody tumbling down would have even the remotest chance of survival. When they had tentatively asked their grandfather to join them and inspect their progress of making these caves inhabitable, he had looked at their work critically and had decided, “You can’t do this.”

Their heart fell, before the king continued, “Not alone. Ask some of the miners, I thing Bifur and Bofur would be willing to help. You need to make sure that you won’t damage the structure when you open the gap to the outside and reshape the caves.”

Completely taken by surprise, Kíli stuttered, “So you …”

“You are alright with us working up here?” Fíli finished for his brother, looking at their grandfather with astonishment and relief.

Turning towards his grandsons, looking at them seriously, the king stated, “Ever since your return from the Shire you have showed yourself supportive and responsible. If you continue this good behaviour, I see no reason to forbid your little side project. What do you want these rooms for? They are quite small in comparison to your chambers.”

Now Fíli was the one who twiddled his fingers, unable to meet his grandfather’s eyes. Luckily Kíli picked up the courage and explained in a small voice, “They are not for us but for Bilbo. He is not happy, so we thought we could recreate a smial for him and with the terrace outside he could even have a garden, and maybe he would be happy again and would stay with us forever.”

 

“What do you mean Bilbo is not happy? He seems quite content to me. He fulfils his responsibilities and even works with his friend Dori or invites Bifur and Bofur, and when he has time even Bombur, for tea. I have it on good authority that he laughs quite a lot with them.”

Fidgeting with their shirts, the boys shared a look and explained, “But he is not singing anymore.”

Aware that this was something of significance he could not understand, Thráin pondered over the situation for a few moments and finally nodded. “Ask for help. If you want these rooms ready for our hobbit, you will need help if you plan to finish this project sooner than within a decade.”

“You mean that …”

“We are allowed to recruit others?”

“No, we have too few workers for everything that has to be done as it is, but you are allowed to ask for help. If you find dwarrows who are willing to support you in their free time, I will provide a budget.”

“Grandfather, I …”

“We …”

“Thank you!” And all of a sudden Thráin found himself with two arms full of dwarrows. This was the first time ever since their arrival in the Blue Mountains that the boys had hugged him. During their travel he had done his best to keep them warm and safe, just like his daughter and his son, but they had drifted apart after building a home here.

Now it seemed that giving in to their reasonable requests of building a home for their new uncle had earned him back a lot of sympathy. Obviously, the hobbit was good for all of them, not only for his son.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

Fíli and Kíli had asked Bifur and Bofur first, and with the cousins came Bombur who was followed by Dori, who enjoyed using his strength for something else than kneading dough. The fact that the chef of the Blue Mountains and the teashop owner always brought treats for all helpers improved the overall mood considerably.

As always when there was something going on, Nori was not far. As soon as he realized what the princes were planning to do, he advised them to go through the library for some plans. Confused by the advice, but willing to heed it nevertheless, Fíli and Kíli came across Ori who was busy copying a heavy tome, but swiftly covered it when the boys entered.

He had a little trouble working through the somehow confusing requests for plans and how to build a new home in empty caves; but once he understood what Fíli and Kíli were up to, he promised to look into the matter and told them not to pester him with it until the next day.

 

The same evening Ori entered his brother’s room, a familiar leather-bound book in his arms. When Nori looked at him expectantly, Ori merely said, “You knew that this would happen, that somehow, someone would try to rebuild Bag End here.”

“What makes you say that, little brother?”

Frustrated, because his auburn-haired brother preferred to talk in riddles, Ori sat down on Nori’s bed, while his brother looked at him from the mirror where he was redoing his artistic braids. “Fíli and Kíli were in the library today. They told me that you had advised them to look for plans of a smial.”

“I did no such thing. I merely suggested that there were plans to be found in the library, of how to make empty caves habitable.”

“You knew that I had these plans and drawings of Bag End.”

“I was counting on it!”

Looking at the leather-clad book, Ori mused, “You want me to give it to them.”

Scandalized, Nori turned away from the mirror, looking at his baby brother. “Of course not! Can you imagine what could happen to it on a building lot?” Yet with a soft smile he continued, “But maybe, if you could make time for it, you could copy the floor plan and the measurements. I knew you went through the smial with a measuring tape. You never do anything halfheartedly. You know how big the rooms were, how long the corridor and how high the passages. Am I right, little brother?”

Hiding his embarrassment at his brother’s implied praise, Ori merely nodded. He only looked up when Nori kneeled before him, covering Ori’s soft fingers with his own rougher ones. Lowly the older brother whispered, “They want to build a new home for our hobbit. Don’t you think that Bilbo deserves that?”

Nodding empathically, Ori still objected, “The floor plan of Bag End might be of little use to them. You have to work with what the mountain is giving you rather than forcing a design on it. You can’t copy a plan and expect it to work.”

Pulling away his brother’s braid, which had fallen into his face, Nori suggested, “Then go and inspect the building lot. Come up with a plan that the mountain will allow and draw it out for Fíli and Kíli. Believe me, no matter how enthusiastic our princes are, they need all the help they can get.”

With a small smile, Ori hugged his brother and left.

After the door had closed, Nori took a deep breath. Maybe giving up Bag End in favour of coming with them would turn out to be a blessing in disguise for Bilbo after all. Maybe they could make it up for him. Nori knew that the caverns as well as the gardens were far more extensive than the estate Bilbo had owned in the Shire, and he had been considered rich there. If they did everything right, they could give their hobbit a far better home than the one he had lost, even if it would not hold as many memories.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

Aware of the extensive renovations his grandsons were supervising, the king knew exactly where to find them. Entering the upper caverns, dodging a few fieldworkers, who were carrying wood beams, he started looking for his grandsons. Both he and Dís had agreed that there would be no harm in allowing Fíli and Kíli to join Bilbo and Thorin on their journey again. The boys were skilled enough to be trusted with traveling back alone and time with their friends of the Shire would do them good.

So Thráin had to keep himself from smiling, when he finally spotted his grandsons in a dark part of the cave, where they were inspecting a part of a crumbling wall with Bifur at their side. He gestured for them to follow him and led them to his rooms.

Nervously Fíli and Kíli shared a glance. Though they had proudly told their grandfather about their achievements over the last month, they had never been summoned by the king and were quite nervous about it.

Thráin gestured towards his couch and enjoyed the boys’ fidgeting on the sofa for a few moments – he still wondered what they were up to, if they were so nervous when being summoned unexpectedly. “I have just had a chat with your mother, as well as Thorin and Bilbo,” he explained. “You see, our hobbit and your uncle plan to leave for the Shire in about eight to ten weeks.”

Excitedly Kíli interrupted his grandfather, “Could we join them? Please!”

“Please, we will do everything you want. We will take our studies with us and … and Master Sviur promised to supervise the construction of the support structure and he even offered to take care of the floor. We were supposed to help him but when we work fast maybe we can have the floor ready within two months, if a few more farmers help. And we could …”

Raising his hands to stop his older grandson’s babbling, he continued with an open smile now. “As I said, Bilbo and Thorin are planning to leave for the Shire at the beginning of April and as I was about to say before the two of you interrupted me so rudely, Dís and I decided that you are to join them. I understand that you found a lot of friends in the Shire who would like to see you again.”

Gaping at each other, mouths hanging open, Fíli and Kíli jumped at their grandfather, effectively tackling him out of his seat, piling on the floor laughing. “Thank you.”

“Thank you.”

“Thank you.”

“Thank you.”

“Thank you.”

Laughing out loud, Thráin tried to push Fíli and Kíli away from his stomach, when they were elbowing him, and rolled with them over the carpet. It had been very long since he had seen his grandsons so relaxed and overjoyed in his presence and he promised himself that he would see this situation repeated as soon as possible.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

Thrilled at the prospect of returning to the Shire, even if it was only for a few months, Bilbo threw himself into his studies with full force. Sadly, though the training with Nori and Dwalin and the lessons with Master Kiron went well, Bilbo’s attempts to study the dwarrows’ language were frustrated.

Huffing and puffing with annoyance, Bilbo worked through his anger by beating up another patch of dough that would make a lovely apple tart later. But even then, when Dori’s teashop was filled with the aroma of cinnamon and baked apples, the hobbit brooded over an early tea with Bifur at his side. Bofur had excused himself from their weekly meeting, explaining something about structural weaknesses in a mine shaft or cavern or something like that. Bilbo honestly hadn’t gotten it, but was too aggravated to care.

 

It took the dwarf several tries to get the hobbit’s attention, but when he did, indicating with raised eyebrows that he wanted to know what was bothering Bilbo, the smaller male deflated and dropped his face onto his arms. His explanation came out a little muffled. “You know I always thought myself pretty smart, learning Sindarin only through books and by being in Rivendell every five years for the summer. But it turns out that I just had brilliant teachers and when left alone I am just a sad failure of a student.”

Though Bifur couldn’t make any sense from that sentence alone, he continued sitting quietly next to the hobbit, patting his back soothingly, thinking the situation through. Why would Bilbo draw a comparison between his current studies with Master Kiron and Lord Elrond’s children? The hobbit excelled during his lessons of dwarvish history, something Balin had bragged about when talking to Bifur and Bofur last week. So there had to be something else to bother the hobbit. And even though the dwarf could not fathom what it was, he knew what made him feel better when he was down.

Therefore the dwarf with the axe in his head nudged his smaller friend and gestured for him to follow. They would not get a proper tea-time with cookies, cake and little sandwiches today, but maybe he could make Bilbo smile again.

Walking through the mountain, entering a wide area that seemed unusually heavily guarded, he entered the training grounds for the young dwarrows of the Blue Mountains. Here the ‘teenagers’ got lessons in fighting, history and everything else they needed to know to become valuable members of society. As soon as he was spotted, Bifur was instantly surrounded by children. He was known for carrying little toys and being extraordinarily patient throughout the heaviest storm of questions, he soon was dragged into the classroom where the children had been studying moments ago.

 

Of course Bilbo was tugged along as well, but the hobbit really didn’t wish to steal the toymaker’s attention, for he seemed so happy when surrounded by fauntlings – no, dwarflings. After a brief exchange with the teacher, which went mostly over Bilbo’s head, Bifur reached for a book from the topmost shelf and sat down on the carpet, gesturing Bilbo to join him. The hobbit soon found themselves surrounded by a good dozen dwarrows, who all looked at Bifur eagerly.

No matter whether he would be able to understand the lesson or not, Bilbo had to admit that it had been the right an excellent idea of Bifur to bring him here. The eager anticipation that hung heavily in the air already rubbed off on him and made him smile. What came next, however, surpassed Bilbo’s wildest dreams.

To any bystander, the scene that was now unfolding might not have appeared anything out of the ordinary, for Bifur simply opened the book on the bookmarked page and started reading unhurriedly, modulating his tone whenever the scene demanded it. To Bilbo this was a revelation, for maybe due to his battle wound, Bifur trailed the words he was reading with his fingers so that the hobbit had no problems matching the word with the runes that were read.

After a little less than an hour, Bifur had obviously reached the end of an important chapter, and closed the book again. Bilbo leaned back on his hands, smiling at his friend, who patiently answered all the questions that were sprung at him. The hobbit had learned the basic runes and their sounds during the lessons for the fauntlings, but this, this could boost his understanding of the language of the dwarrows considerably.

The only downside of this afternoon was Bilbo nearly losing his trousers when rising from the floor, but swiftly the hobbit pushed his shirt and waistcoat into the seam, to keep them in place, forcefully pushing the incident from his mind as soon as he had risen.

When he asked Bifur and the teacher if he was allowed to attend the reading sessions again, they informed him that at his own request, ever since his return from the Shire Bifur had been teaching the dwarflings about the great battles of the dwarrows. Obviously the encounter with the fauntlings there had convinced him that regardless of whether he could speak Westron or not, he still was fit to be around children, and what better way to teach them about battles than having a warrior in their midst.

Bifur shared, in slow words and gestures that he usually carved small soldiers for the five children who excelled the tests they needed to take during the semester, and at the end, he gave one to each of them, allowing the dwarflings to build up considerable armies in their own homes. Sometimes they were even allowed to bring them to their lessons, re-enacting battles of old in the classroom with their toys.

When they parted ways this evening, Bilbo hugged Bifur fiercely, thanking him for bringing him along. Though the dwarf seemed slightly puzzled by the hobbit’s overwhelming joy – after all, he usually joined classes at least twice a week – he returned the hug and nudged the hobbit’s forehead affectionately with his own, careful not to hurt him with the weapon that was still protruding from his.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

Upon entering his own rooms, before writing down everything he had learned today, Bilbo made sure that Thorin was still out, before undressing in front of the mirror. Though he had known that he had lost weight ever since coming here – five meals a day simply were not enough for a hobbit – he had tried to push that fact from his mind as firmly as possible. But the incident in the classroom had left him without a shadow of doubt.

Turning sideways in front of the mirror, he put his hand on his nearly flat belly, biting back a sob. How could he ever return to the Shire looking so haggard? Everybody would automatically assume that his dwarrows were abusing and starving him. That was the last thing he wanted, since he knew that his family and friends tried to take good care of him. Yet they were not equipped to deal with a hobbit, they knew too little about his people and even when they knew, there simply was not enough food to keep up with a hobbit’s appetite, and Bilbo still refused to take more than any other dwarf in the mountain.

He might have brought back enough to get them through the winter, might have offered his own home to ensure an early harvest, but still that was no reason to take more than anybody else. It simply would not have been right. When he had watched Gentian from a distance a week ago, making sure that the other hobbit was still working as expected but not abused like he had been during his first weeks here, Longleaf had seemed quite content at his current working place, the glassmakers of the Blue Mountains.

He would be welcomed back with open arms, since _he_ looked like a respectable hobbit still, but Bilbo …

Turning away from the mirror, picking up his clothes once again, Bilbo reached for his traveling attire on instinct, comparing the seam of his old trousers to the ones he had worn today. More than two inches were missing, meaning that Bilbo had lost at least ten pounds since he had come here. Wrapping himself in his dressing gown, Bilbo wrote down the runes and their spelling he had learned with Bifur's help today before he retreated to the kitchen to prepare dinner. He knew that he could make cookies or a cake, ensure that he ate more. But that only meant that somebody else would have less, and even the faint possibility that this person could be one of the dwarflings he had met today was more than he could bear.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

Bilbo was going through his training sessions successfully, as Nori and Dwalin kept assuring Thorin. The hobbit was highly motivated and always training hard to ‘learn how to keep his family safe’ as he explained. Dwalin had even been bested by him once during a fight, even without Dís distracting him. His friend truly was very proud of their hobbit.

The royal consort excelled in his history and etiquette lessons, as Master Kiron never got tired of pointing out when asked. By now he knew as much about their history as the average dwarfling who was finished with his lessons. Bilbo seemed to be able to take in and remember history better than anybody else his teacher had ever come across, and even if some of the habits of the court seemed strange to him, Bilbo always accepted the instructions, trying to heed them as well as he could.

When he attended council meetings, the hobbit offered sensible advice and valuable insight, especially when discussions went off track or unpractical solutions were suggested by other council members. His word was heeded, not only because he had proven himself loyal to the crown and respectful towards their traditions, but also because his unique point of view more often than not offered simple solutions that nobody else had thought of.

 

All in all, Bilbo had integrated himself into the dwarrows’ society better than anybody could have expected. Therefore it hurt all the more that ever since the beginning of February, his husband pulled back from Thorin and became more and more reclusive with every passing day.

Bilbo rose early, most of the days even before Thorin, and worked late. And while the hobbit still shared his bed most nights, they hardly ever bathed together or made love. Those few times that Bilbo touched Thorin were always during the darkest hours of the night, without even a candle glowing, and during the last two weeks it had stopped altogether.

Thorin also noticed that his hobbit didn’t like being touched by him any longer. Whenever he tried to claim his resting place on the hobbit’s chest, Bilbo pulled up the hand the dwarf tried to warp around his middle, placing it on the bed sheet next to him. He didn’t allow Thorin to cuddle him or snuggle into his body.

All this time the dwarven prince had been trying his best to think of a way he could have offended his husband. Had he offered insult? Had he shown himself inconsiderate? Noticing hundreds of little things that Bilbo did for him, like embroidering his shirts in the evening, carving another bead for him, serving breakfast and dinner, sometimes even tea, he realized that he always thanked him, but never did anything for Bilbo in return.

Still, Bilbo had never mentioned anything he wished Thorin to do. He neither wanted the dwarf to help with tea, nor expected support when he was cooking dinner. The nuts were the only thing Thorin was allowed to crack since Bilbo found the job tiring.

Nothing indicated any kind of crisis between them. They never argued, no harsh word fell from either of them, and the hobbit certainly never criticized Thorin’s behaviour in any way. The only thing that made Thorin sure that they had a problem was his husband’s inability to bear his touch any longer, and slowly this wore Thorin down, making him desperate for a … any kind of explanation of what he had done wrong. For when he didn’t know what he had done, how could he change his behaviour to win his husband's affection back?

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> But now: Sorry?
> 
> I feel the need to add something. Bilbo perceives himself as haggard in this chapter and is pulling back from Thorin because of it. But I want to remind you that he eats a healthy diet, not as much as usually - especially not with this level of activity - but enough. Also he trains with Nori and Dwalin on a daily basis. He helps Dori in the kitchen - which is demanding in it's own way - and he visits Vár, getting fresh air and sunlight. So Bilbo is not really sick, he just DID lose weight and for a hobbit that's really bad. Not unhealthy, but really bad and that's why Bilbo is so desperate in this chapter.


	40. An easy explanation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thorin will make everything better. Just like I promised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you read please go back to Chapter 37. I received an adorable fanart of Bilbo and Vár by teaxdragon. Just take a peek.

At the end of February, Thorin couldn’t take it any longer. He had seen Bilbo laughing with Bifur upon his return to their quarters, hugging the other briefly, a huge smile on his face. Yet after closing the door, Bilbo obviously had to force a smile on his face when seeing Thorin, bestowing the briefest kiss on his husband, before retreating to his rooms.

The dwarf put his face in his hands, biting back a sob. He knew how this evening would end. Bilbo would make dinner; force himself to smile at Thorin all through the meal, pretend interest in how his husband’s day had been by asking numerous questions. But after their meal, they would only share a quick kiss, before Thorin would be ushered out of the kitchen where Bilbo would take care of the clean-up all alone. Then the hobbit would return to his studies or a book or embroidering a shirt or whatever he did for relaxation, most likely dozing off in his armchair, like he had done twice in the last three nights.

When everything came to pass as predicted and Bilbo nudged Thorin to leave the kitchen after dinner, the prince returned to his desk, only to sit there staring blindly at his work.

 

Was he so repulsive that Bilbo couldn’t even bear to be around him any longer? The hobbit had not shared himself with Thorin for nearly a month now, and even their innocent contact during the night had ceased. Bilbo now turned to the side, curling into himself, pulled up his legs and wrapped his arms around his middle obviously aiming for having as little contact with his husband as possible.

Thorin couldn’t take this any longer. When he could not hear the faintest clatter of dishes and cutlery any longer, the dwarf decided that he would rather bear a painful end, than endless pain for Mahal knew how long. Traveling to the Shire in a month with a husband who obviously found him repulsive was out of the question for the dwarf.

Freeing himself from any and all signs of his status, his rings, necklaces, headband, coat and waistcoat, Thorin looked into the mirror and steeled himself for the coming encounter. He didn’t want to appear imposing before Bilbo. The hobbit had gotten to know … had gotten to like he wanted to believe, a simple dwarf, a blacksmith and not somebody of status. If Bilbo wished to reject him, he should do so to the man he had met in the Shire, not to a prince who hid behind his regalia and birth right.

 

When he entered Bilbo’s living-room his voice broke when he started, “Bilbo, I …”

Instantly the hobbit looked up at him with concern.

Confused Thorin looked at his husband. Why would Bilbo even be concerned if he didn’t like him anymore? Closing his eyes for a second, before approaching, Thorin sank to his knees in front of his hobbit, reaching for his hands, placing a small kiss on them before Bilbo could pull back. After a moment's hesitation the dwarf asking tonelessly, “Please, Bilbo, tell me what I have done wrong. Tell me what is amiss, so that I get a chance to change it, instead of simply signing me … _us_ … off.”

 

When his husband kneeled before him, Bilbo pulled back instinctively, not wanting to make his husband deal with his unappealing form. Yet Thorin’s question had him stuttering. “What … I … I don’t understand. Thorin, you did nothing wrong, why would you think that?”

Reaching for his husband’s hair to comfort him, before pulling back his hand when seeing his slim fingers, Bilbo shook his head, forcing away any thoughts of how unsightly he looked for a proper hobbit. Thorin obviously had a problem, and as a good spouse it was his duty to set his own problems aside and support him.

Yet his husband only whispered brokenly, “This … this is what I mean. What has happened, Bilbo, that you can’t bear to touch me any longer? Why am I so repulsive to you? You touch me only when it’s absolutely necessary. You don’t hold me when we sleep. You even prefer this chair over our bed.

“Please,” Thorin begged distraughtly, “tell me what it is you can't bear. Is it the hair? I can bind it back. I would even cut it for you! Don’t you like my beard?” Closing his eyes, placing his forehead on his husband’s thighs, something Bilbo couldn’t evade, the dwarf whispered, “Please, tell me what's wrong, because I can’t bear not being close to you. Not after everything we have been through. I need you, Bilbo, please.”

 

Seeing his husband’s agitation brought tears to Bilbo’s eyes. How could his precious husband think for a single moment that he was the problem? When he was tall and proud and handsome and everything anyone could want in a partner.

Unable to bite back a sob, Bilbo cried out, “And why would you even want that? Look at me, Thorin, I am haggard and ugly and thin! Why would you want me close when I look like this?”

 

Trying to pull back from his husband, freeing himself from the proximity, Bilbo was surprised when Thorin reached for his hands, forcing him to remain in place, looking up at him in confusion.

Unmoving, the dwarf studied his hobbit, his face, his hands, his waist.

True, Thorin had noticed the loss of weight, but Bilbo had exercises scheduled every day. He went out into the snow to visit the raven valley. He had a healthy diet containing meat and vegetables. How could he ever think himself ugly when he looked positively radiant?

Then Thorin recalled the hobbits of the Shire and what they had looked like. They all cherished their round forms, the males as well as the females. Suddenly everything made sense. Bilbo was no dwarf who enjoyed a lean body, steeled for fighting; he didn’t cherish muscles over softness and surely didn’t appreciate a flat stomach over a plush one. How could he have been so blind not to see that Bilbo had not rejected Thorin but himself?

 

Well, this would end today. Trapping his husband in the chair, locking his blue eyes with the miserable hazel ones of his hobbit, Thorin only eased his grip when Bilbo gave up all pretence of flight. Holding his gaze, the dwarf slowly opened Bilbo’s dressing gown and the shirt underneath, pushing away the undershirt, inwardly shaking his head at the many layers Bilbo had wrapped himself into.

Not leaving the eyes of his husband, Thorin stated with all the sincerity he could muster, “Bilbo, to me, you are the most beautiful male in all Middle-earth. I don’t care if you weigh a stone more or less. The only thing I can’t bear is you pulling away from me, not touching me and not allowing me to touch you. We are married, this separation can’t be your heart’s desire.”

With that conviction he lowered his face to the hobbit’s now naked skin, lovingly placing a kiss on the quivering stomach. He heard a sob, but didn’t stop his caress, tracing Bilbo’s developing muscles with the tip of his fingers, ridding the hobbit of the majority of his clothes before kissing every patch of skin within reach.

 

When Bilbo slid from the chair into his lap, Thorin could feel the hot tears of his husband drenching his shirt. Bilbo wrapped his arms around Thorin’s neck, holding himself close as he started to shake all over, and Thorin merely copied the gesture, keeping their bodies fused together. How very sad his husband had become, and Thorin had simply not been knowledgeable enough to see it.

How had he not noticed how very much his hobbit was hurting due to his loss of weight? But Thorin would make sure that in the morning not even the faintest trace of doubt would remain in his husband’s mind, that he was perfect in Thorin's eyes. That he didn’t have to pull back and ‘spare’ Thorin any interaction with him, since living even for these few weeks without the constant contact with Bilbo had been more than the dwarf was willing to bear.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

Bilbo couldn’t, simply couldn’t open his eyes, no matter how tender Thorin’s caresses. He had been proud of his pretty, well-fed, soft, round form and now he was neither pretty nor well-fed nor soft nor round and it took everything in him not to pull back from Thorin’s touch. Despite all that, Thorin didn’t tire of petting him gently, showering him with kisses and massaging a tension out of Bilbo’s muscles, which the hobbit had not even known had been there.

Around midnight his husband whispered, “Look at me, Bilbo.” And it would have needed a stronger hobbit than Bilbo to resist such a compassionate plea.

When he opened his eyes, he found the blue ones of his husband shining with warmth and affection for him. Thorin’s words were equally fond when he assured him, “I love the way you feel beneath me,” brushing a kiss over his husband’s belly he continued, “or above me,” the next kiss was pressed to Bilbo’s pelvis, something that made the hobbit sigh blissfully, “or joined with me. And I am willing to prove this to you for the rest of our lives. But I can’t support you when you are not talking to me about the things that bother you. Do you understand that? Please, Bilbo, talk to me and don’t leave me scared that I have made a mistake just because you think I have a problem when I have none.”

Aware that this was a reasonable request, not wishing for his husband to be hurt for his own shortcomings, Bilbo gently brushed a lock of Thorin’s hair away and nodded. “I promise.”

Only now did the hobbit realize how much tension and anxiety had built up in Thorin, for with that promise, all of it seemed to leave his dwarf. He deflated over Bilbo, put his head on his husband’s chest and his hand on Bilbo’s belly. As a reflex Bilbo tried to pull Thorin’s hand away from his flat stomach but after his husband resisting him he only wove their fingers together and gently caressed his husband’s hand with his thumb.

No matter what had brought them here, Bilbo could consider himself lucky to have such an understanding and affectionate partner. He too had suffered at the growing distance between them, but had not wanted to sentence his lover to dealing with his haggard appearance. Now he was sure that Thorin didn’t care, really didn’t care. His actions spoke louder than words. It was not alright, Bilbo did not feel good again all of a sudden, but as long as he had his husband’s devotion it was enough. They would return to the Shire and at the end of the summer everything would be well again.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

The next week was spent in a whirlwind of activity. Bilbo’s lessons, his time with his friends, even his arms-training, were cut short in favour of meetings with all guilds he was responsible for. Everybody wanted to talk to him about their budgets.

Dís had helped him to understand how much money was there and how to trace it through the books. At the beginning Bilbo was overwhelmed by the sheer amount of bookkeeping the dwarrows maintained. But soon he saw the flaw in the system. There appeared to be tons of volumes where everything was written down, every coin had a paper-trail, but it was horribly complicated to trace it.

So the first thing Bilbo ordered where five books from the library: one for each budget he was responsible for. He had gotten a budget from the king and the green-bound book held his own ‘official’ expenses and gains. It was agreed that the royal consort was responsible for the distribution of the money, and after the first meeting with all of the guild-masters Bilbo demanded an overview of last years’ budget, summarized on one sheet to get a simplified idea of how much money was needed.

It took the hobbit about a day to decide how much money every guild would get and then he asked the guild-masters of all of his guilds to join him in the council chamber. Though Thráin had decided to join them, he only sat in his chair, watching the royal consort and the other dwarrows, while Bilbo explained the money they would get and how they would be expected to manage it this year.

A book bound in blue leather would hold all expenses of the miners’ guild. A brown one was intended for the provisions – even though their budget was quite small as they would not need to buy a lot. The greater portion of their money would be given to them during harvesting season. A book covered in multi-coloured leather patches was reserved for the tailors’ guild; and the last one, bound in simple black leather, would hold the funds of the library.

The hobbit explained that every guild would get a regular income, but their funds would not be handed out all at once but every three months. At the end of this period Bilbo would summarize their expenses and they would get the next portion. If there were big payments to make – for example for new tools – they would make an official request and Bilbo would sign out the money ahead of schedule. Still the hobbit demanded a detailed overview over all of their expenses every month so that he could keep track.

It was an uncommon system, but Bilbo justified it with his inability to keep track of so much money otherwise. That pacified the other dwarrows and after discussing the amount of money that was allowed to be ‘general expenses’ – Bilbo would not have more than 5% of the budget being ‘lost’ that way – they all agreed and left.

Once they were alone, Thráin turned to Bilbo and asked, “Is it true? Do you have troubles keeping track of the expenses? I could assign one of the accountants to support you.”

Moving his head vaguely, Bilbo admitted, “Partially. At the end of our stay in the Shire I would be grateful for help, since I will have to deal with several months of bookkeeping, but that was not my main reason to cut up their budgets.”

“You are worried that there is money missing, aren’t you?” Thráin asked thoughtfully.

Bilbo nodded. “Yes, from what I can tell there are dozens of forms to be filled out for getting more money than your share, and nearly every guild uses them. But nobody keeps track whether the records are accurate. With everything being written in one journal it’s nearly impossible anyway.

I don’t think that your guild-masters are trying to fleece you, at least not very much, but opportunity makes thieves and when we shorten these opportunities, I am sure we can find a system where everybody will have what he needs. Not everything they want but enough to make the guilds work.”

With a mischievous smile, Bilbo added, “All that aside, I have assigned them only 85% of the money you granted me. So I will have a capital surplus when more money is needed.”

“You have done this before?”

“No, but my grandfather is thain, remember? He too has to juggle budgets for official events. He taught me about it when I was a tween, and though the Shire operates on a far smaller scale, I thought his system wise and well arranged. It might not work here, but I have to start somewhere.”

Rising form his chair so that they could leave the chamber together, Thráin stopped one last time at the door, putting a hand on Bilbo’s shoulder and gently touching their foreheads. “From all the hobbits of the Shire, I think we got the best. Mahal has truly blessed us with you as royal consort to my firstborn.”

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

It was only two weeks until their departure to the Shire and Bilbo had not needed a long time to decide how to prepare. His new traveling clothes had been sitting aside ever since the beginning of March and apart from a few last presents for his family and friends, everything just needed to be stuffed into his backpack. Despite Bilbo’s protests, they were traveling by pony. Though when he thought about it, Bilbo realized that they would travel much faster that way, so he didn’t put up too much of a fight.

Currently he was going through the summaries of the books the guilds had provided him with, sighing over a confusing document of the merchants’ guild that had been assigned to him as well. The transition of these funds from Dís to Bilbo had ended in a conflict of epic proportions. The guild-master and a few of his fellow guild-members had kept shouting over each other verbalizing their disagreement with the situation once they had been informed about it during a meeting in the council chamber.

In the beginning Dís had tried to speak up on Bilbo’s behalf, but when her brother-in-law had gently patted her hand, she had leaned back and joined him in watching their opponents. After they had screamed themselves hoarse – more or less – Bilbo smiled at them pleasantly. “It really is no problem if you don’t want me to handle your accounts.”

He had learned about a few tricks and tweaks of the royal funding system and continued confidently, “You will be assigned 10% of your last year’s budget, and are free to cover all of your other expenses on your own, if you are opposed to my supervision.”

“You can’t expect us to keep the market open with as little money as that!” The guild-master growled.

But Bilbo only kept his pleasant smile. “Of course not, I am perfectly willing to give you more, but as you have made it very clear that you don’t fancy taking money from a halfling, a non-dwarf or … how did the master baker put it, Dís? … from a little gnome who doesn’t even know his way around the mountain, I really would not want to put you in a position to deal with something as unpleasant as me. So you are free to take care of your own bookkeeping, keep all of your expenses and income concealed and maybe we can talk again next year. Have a good day.”

With that Bilbo rose and turned to leave the chamber. Under the dwarrows’ flabbergasted stares, the princess rose from her chair as well, nodding to them majestically, and followed her brother-in-law without a word.

Dis made a beeline to a salon next door and, after ordering tea and some cake, sank down onto the sofa there. Shaking her head, she laughed at Bilbo. “You really took them by surprise, that was brilliant, Bilbo!”

Grinning, sorting through his documents before putting them on the coffee table, the hobbit shrugged, “Well, Ori and the Master of the Library were exceptionally helpful when explaining to me the regulations of the budgets. The guilds are free to keep their accounts to themselves, as long as they do not ask for royal funding. If they do, they are obliged to lay open their expenses. I’m working perfectly within your traditions.”

When the tea was served and both Dís and Bilbo had taken a few sips, the princess decided, “You are not _working_ with our traditions, you are using them as weapons against our people. It was impressive to watch, I have to give you that.”

“Only against those who prove themselves stubborn. Really, I have better things to do than to butt though their resistance with nice words and courtesy. They are not giving in to me, accusing me of not being a dwarf, not respecting their ways. Well, they can have it their way. I won’t argue with them, my request for monthly accounts is not unreasonable and I am even willing to overlook a few missing coins here and there, but if they are hardheaded, we will do everything by the book.”

Assuring him of her support, Dís left Bilbo to his cake. Smiling at the sponge-cake, Bilbo enjoyed another slice. Ever since his breakdown at the end of February, food appeared out of the blue wherever he went. It was not much, not enough that anybody had to be cut short, but to Bilbo it meant the world. In the morning three extra eggs were delivered. After second breakfast Bombur always managed to sneak a little sandwich or bun into Bilbo’s bag. Around lunch Dori tended to end their meal with another cupcake, something he was experimenting with, a new colour, taste or form, but there was always an additional bite for Bilbo to savour.

Returning from the raven valley, Bilbo had found a plate with two cookies on his desk. He knew that either Dwalin or Thorin had provided them since they were Dwalin’s favourites. One evening, Bilbo had even caught Fíli and Kíli sneaking a few extra slices of ham and cheese into his kitchen. All in all everybody seemed to work together to fatten their hobbit up and those were so heart-warming gestures that Bilbo could not help but enjoy them.

When he had taken up the topic with Thorin, the dwarf had explained to him that they would leave for the Shire anyway, so the few treats that were shared would not affect their provisions very much, especially not if there were six people less to feed until harvest.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

So that’s what had brought Bilbo here, munching on one of his cookies, going over the expenses of the merchants’ guild, while being annoyingly distracted by hammering above his head. He had realized earlier that there were works being done, but the few farmers he had seen going up, carrying picks or wood, had simply explained to him that the upper rooms were to be opened and stabilized and that Bilbo should not worry about it. Nothing would tumble on his head.

Up until now the hobbit had done quite a good job not worrying, but for one, the handwriting of the accountant of the merchants’ guild was a nightmare, and secondly he had had a headache ever since this afternoon – maybe the hit to the head Dwalin had managed to land had caused a slight concussion. When Bilbo made a frustrated noise at the back of his throat, his husband looked up from his armchair, where he was reading a letter from the dwarrows of the south – something that Bilbo had not particularly enjoyed when hearing about it – then rose and approached his husband.

Rubbing his fingers soothingly over his hobbit’s neck, Thorin asked, “What’s the matter? Are the merchants still causing you trouble?”

“No. … Yes … that’s not the problem,” Bilbo admitted frustrated. “It’s this hammering that’s driving me crazy!”

Listening for a moment, Thorin realized that Bilbo was right and that there were noises of work coming from above. Erebor had been filled with the sounds of the great forges and mines day and night, and ever since the work over their heads had started, Thorin could forget for a little while that he was not home any longer, the monotone noises soothed him during his daily chores.

Offering his hand, the dwarf smiled. “Well, then let’s go up there and see if we can talk them into making a break.”

Beaming at his clever husband, Bilbo dashed towards the kitchen and came out with a seedcake and several napkins.

Thorin could only shake his head, but Bilbo was a hobbit after all, food made everything better. And the last two weeks had proven him right, so the prince was not about to protest when his afternoon meal was shipped off to the workers. Entering the working area, they could hear the wind howling, but a coarse wooden barrier on the outer side of the mountain seemed to keep the worst of the weather at bay so that it would not mess with the workers and carry dust into their eyes.

Looking around, Thorin mused, “Storage chambers. Maybe you got us too much food and now we have to make more room for it?” With a wink Thorin entered the area and called together the dwarrows, explained to them that their stonework resonated through the chambers of the royal consort, and asked if they could maybe find something else to work on for the next two hours. As a bribe he offered the cake, and every worker on the building lot instantly agreed and went for the treat.

Smiling, they explained to Bilbo what they were doing right now and what they could do instead so as to keep down the din that echoed through his chambers. Apparently erecting wooden beams to strengthen the walls would cause less noise and the work was overdue anyway. Not entirely understanding what the dwarrows talked about, the hobbit still smiled and nodded, offered encouragements and praise. They all enjoyed what they were doing, so who was he to keep them from it? Bilbo was just grateful for a few hours of silence so that he could work his way through the books.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One update a week. Not too bad, right?


	41. Concerning Hobbits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lots and lots and lots of them ;).

When all their workers left unexpectedly, Fíli and Kíli looked at each other in wonder and trailed after them. Both knew that all of their helpers were here in their spare time, so they really didn’t have a chance to hold them back if they decided to finish for the day. But what they saw at the entrance of their site made them freeze in their tracks. Fíli actually stopped so abruptly that Kíli ran into him, nearly making both of them tumble to the ground.

But at the last minute, Fíli kept them both out of sight of Bilbo and their uncle. That they had come here surely meant that they were busted. Their surprise wasn’t one any longer. But after a few moments of intense eavesdropping, they realized that neither of their uncles was actually aware of what was to be built here. Thorin even mused whether this was to be an extensive place for storage; luckily he was more concerned with Bilbo’s headache to leave his husbands side and explore the building lot to determent what it was about to become.

The brothers let out a relieved sigh when their ‘guests’ left again, leaving their workers free to return to their assignments. One of them had even thought about saving a little cake for them. Aware that they had dodged the arrow, they shared the treat.

It was Kíli who spoke first, “Do you think we should tell them? This was a close call, but Bilbo would be happy, don’t you think?”

“I’m not sure,” Fíli responded. “Our new uncle did not look particularly impressed, he merely seemed grateful that the hammering stopped. I don’t think that Bilbo would understand how we are about to create a smial from stone. In his mind they are supposed to be built into a hill. This should be ready and beautiful before we tell him.”

After a little while Kíli sighed tiredly when he thought of all the work that still had to be done. Inevitably all their friends came to his mind who had helped them. “We should do something for Ori, and for Bifur and Bofur as well.”

“Why? I mean of course we could do something for them, but what brings this to your mind right now?”

Sliding to the ground, back against the wooden barrier that hid the exit to the mountain terrace, Kíli explained, “Well, without Ori we would have no a clue what a smial is supposed to look like. And Bifur and Bofur were invaluable when adapting the plans to this building lot.”

Twisting the braids of his beard between his fingers, Fíli offered, “We could get Ori another book on hobbit culture. He was quite interested in them when we were in the Shire, wrote everything down during his last month, do you remember?”

Nodding enthusiastically, Kíli licked the last crumbs of the seedcake from his fingers. “What about Bifur and Bofur? They work as miners and the hobbits don’t have mining tools. The only other things they are interested in apart from stonework are children and how much they like their toys. Did you know that Bifur has been carving soapbars for them ever since our return? Apparently soap doesn’t hurt the eyes when carved into an animal. Obviously fauntlings and dwarflings are of similar mind in this.”

Hit with a sudden epiphany, Kíli turned to his brother. Fíli looked at him with confusion but did not protest when Kíli pulled him to his feet, pulling him towards the royal wing. He only asked slightly breathlessly, “Kíli, what … what’s gotten into you?”

But his brother was already at their grandfather’s door and knocked enthusiastically. When they were bidden to enter, Kíli barged in and asked without hesitation, “Are Bifur and Bofur allowed to accompany us to the Shire?”

Suddenly getting what his brother was up to, Fíli squeezed his hand and spoke up, supporting Kíli’s demand, “You wanted guards to protect us and both are good fighters. Surely they would keep us safe during this journey.”

With a knowing smile the king added, “And that the fauntlings of the Shire adore them so much that they even painted them a banner has nothing to do with this?”

“Ahm …”

“Well …”

“Off you go boys, I will talk to them. From what I understand they make good progress on your hobbit’s home, so it is up to them which task they prefer.” With these words the king ushered his nephews out of the room.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

It turned out that of course Bifur and Bofur were delighted to guard the Durins on their journey to the Shire. Immediately after their conversation with the king, they talked to Master Andvari, explaining about their new assignment, asking his help with the hobbit’s new home.

The next day a meeting was held during the afternoon shift where most dwarrows worked. Bifur and Bofur shared their plans of traveling to the Shire briefly, but also explained the princes’ project in some detail. Until now Fíli and Kíli had only asked their friends and people they knew to like Bilbo. Now the cousins asked for support on a much wider scale.

As expected, many of the dwarrows appreciated the hobbit’s efforts to keep them well fed and they had enjoyed his baking and his wonder about their work whenever he visited the mines. So there were a considerable number of miners who volunteered to help. During the last week before their departure, the building lot in the royal wing was a beehive of activity.

Fíli and Kíli were delighted. Once word was spread, a good dozen miners had offered their help. Master Sivur obviously had spread word about the project too, because the next day three more woodworkers joined the construction work. If all of them worked together, surely the smial would be ready for moving in when Bilbo and Thorin returned from the Shire.

Since Ori had drawn the floorplan, it was generally agreed that he was to supervise the work in the princes’ absence. Of course the young dwarf protested, but once Nori and Dori supported him, telling the young princes that their brother surely couldn’t do this, that he was far too young and had too little experience with smials, the youngest dwarf piped up indignantly, “I’ll have you know, dear brothers, that I have personally measured and drawn every last inch of Bag End. So if there is an expert for hobbit lodgings in this mountain, it would be me, thank you very much.”

“Alright, then it is settled,” Fíli decided. “The workers will confer with you every two days, so you should make time for that. We expect a perfect smial upon our return, so that we can lay the pipes and install windows and doors.”

Steamrollered by both his brothers and the royals, Ori did his very best to hold his ground, aware that he had been tricked into agreeing. He merely nodded before turning to leave. When he felt his brothers at his sides, he mumbled, “You two are the worst!”

“You will do great, little brother, have a little faith in yourself,” Dori assured him, gently nudging his brothers shoulder with his own.

Nori added, “And after all, you ARE this mountain’s expert on hobbit holes. Who would do better supervising this project?”

“Smials, they are called smials, not holes. Hobbits are no rabbits,” Ori grumbled, silently enjoying the faith both his brothers and the princes were putting into him.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

Oblivious to all the planning that was going on over his head, Bilbo was busy packing and repacking his bags, trying to find a place for all the little treats and presents he wanted to bring along for his family and friends. He would not be in the Shire for his birthday but surely there would be one party or another, where he would get the chance to give out his gifts. He even brought a big satchel of crystals that with the right mounting would make lovely necklaces.

So the hobbit was quite relieved when Nori told him, two days prior to his departure, that his pony was ready for the long trip and that his saddlebags would be brought up, ready to be filled. Bilbo would not have to choose between gifts and sensible clothes for his journey. Delighted, he hugged Nori, something the other dwarf could accept easily by now, and dashed off to finish packing before he had to be at Dori’s. After more than three months Nori had finally revealed why he had set Bilbo up with his brother, but the hobbit loved baking and the relaxed atmosphere of the little teashop, so he still worked there nearly every day, even though his grip on his weapons was now firm enough for Nori and Dwalin’s liking.

The day before their departure there was a feast his family and all of his friends attended. Stories from the Shire were recalled, making all those who were allowed to leave all the more excited about their upcoming journey.

The whispers about Bilbo forcing his fiancé to take this journey with him, that he was using it as an excuse to enforce his hold over his husband, who had gotten pretty confident in his role over the last weeks, Nori kept to himself. He was well aware that every word that was spoken on that matter would be lost, because those who were determined to hate Bilbo would do so, no matter what. They would always find a way to paint his actions selfish, arrogant and a threat to their throne, ignoring all facts about how much Bilbo was supporting Thráin.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

The sun was just rising but Bilbo and Thorin were already sitting in their kitchen, enjoying an extensive breakfast. Today there would be no time to go to the dining hall for second breakfast. This would have to do until lunch. Bilbo was currently filling several rolls with ham and cheese. Apples and nuts were placed into boxes to keep them fresh for a little snack on the road, but it would not be as good as second breakfast. Elevenses would be cut out and lunch would most likely be a hurried affair.

However, Bilbo didn’t mind these drawbacks. He was returning to the Shire. He would see his family again and live in his smial one last time. He would have ample time to say good-bye and decide if he should bring a few more things. He didn’t know yet how he would transport them, but the hope of saving his father’s chair and desk, or all of his mother’s pans, made him soar.

Fíli and Kíli seemed to share the sentiment and even Bifur and Bofur were in an exceptionally good mood (if that was even possible with Bofur). All in all, everybody was excited to return to a place where they had been so happy, even if it had been only for a few weeks.

 

The journey was much shorter this time than the first time around, and the closer they came to the Shire, the more often Thorin shared a look with his nephews. They sat together in the evenings, silently, for not even Kíli felt the desire to fill the tranquil night with chatter. When Bilbo asked one evening why the Durins were in such good spirits all the time, Thorin answered enigmatically, “No fear.”

Pulling out of his husband’s embrace, Bilbo looked at Thorin questioningly. It was Fíli who explained around a mouthful of pipe smoke. “It was raining last year. We were always cold, constantly hungry and simply couldn’t speed up our journey so that we could reach the Shire on time.”

“But you arrived on the first of Thrimidge. You were perfectly on time.”

All three of them shook their heads, but Kíli was the one who explained. “No, our plan was to arrive a week early. We had factored two weeks for the trip on foot. That would have given us about a week to familiarize ourselves with the Hobbits and the surroundings before we would have been expected by our taskmaster.”

When understanding slowly dawned in Bilbo, he looked at his husband for confirmation. Thorin hesitated for a moment, looking at Bifur and Bofur who now looked at him expectantly as well. He decided that there was no need to have secrets from their friends. Moreover, these events lay in the past, they couldn’t really hurt them any longer; moreover, everything had turned out well in the end. “Well, we dreaded this first confrontation. The thain … he was rude in his letters, most of the times downright hostile. Nothing more or less did we expect from you.”

Shocked Bilbo asked, “You expected me to be rude to my guests?” because really, a hobbit being rude to guests was unthinkable!

“No, Bilbo,” Fíli clarified, “we expected you to be malicious towards your dwarvish servants.”

“Servants?”

“’Serve and Obey’, remember, my dear? To us that meant servility and humiliation, but still, we were prepared to suffer these all through the summer. Well into our first month we tried our best to hold on to that thought, even if you didn’t make it easy for us.” Thorin snickered at the memories of their first month in the Shire.

“Excuse me?” Bilbo stated indignantly, “ _I_ didn’t make it easy for _you_?”

“Yes, you!” Kíli snickered, nudging his brother. “Remember the first day, when you served us tea, and then offered your bathroom and dry clothes to warm us up? And the gigantic dinner you cooked for us? All the while apologizing that you were only able to offer one dinner and not two?”

“I still don’t see the problem. That was perfectly sensible behaviour when entertaining houseguests.”

“Servants, Bilbo! We had been convinced that _we_ were meant to be _your_ servants.” Fíli said. “Servants don’t get served tea by their master. They prepare the bath before making dinner, not the other way around. We were completely at loss with you, because within the few hours between our arrival and sunset of the very first day, you managed to shift our worlds sideways. We didn’t know how to act any longer, couldn’t predict what you were expecting from us. Whatever the thain had foretold in his letter, you were the complete opposite.”

Tenderly, Thorin traced Bilbo’s locks that shone in the firelight like spun copper. Softly he reminded his husband, “And then there was Lobelia. You had offered dry clothes, but these were hobbits’ clothes. I felt warm but completely ridiculous and then there was this overbearing hobbit at the door and I was prepared to become the laughingstock of the Shire. And yet, you didn’t call me forth, even held me back without her realizing that I was just around the corner.”

“Lobelia Sackville-Baggins would have barged into Bag End, propriety be damned, had she known that you were within reach,” Bilbo mumbled, leaning into his husband’s caress.

“Exactly. But you protected me from her, even without knowing me, without any reason I could think of. And then we went to the kitchen and you made me peel these potatoes, and I was so horrible at it and then you offered me the vegetables instead, where the chances of failing a task were far smaller. And all the time you were so friendly and open, caring for nothing but our wellbeing instead of berating me for a job poorly done.

“Yes, Bilbo, you made it exceptionally hard for us to remember that we were meant to be your servants!”

 

Looking at his family, his friends and then into the flames, since he couldn’t bear their adoring eyes on him, when they had been through so much fear and worry because of his grandfather, he hid his face behind his pulled up knees. Really he had only acted like any sensible hobbit would, that did not warrant such looks. “That’s not how it should have been. You should …”

His husband stopped him, gently cupping his cheek. “Yes, Bilbo, that’s exactly how it should have been. We made a mistake when we didn’t come to your aid. Each and every one of us could have picked up his weapons and travelled to the Shire two winters ago. We had enough food then and we were strong. Had we acted differently, your parents would have been alive.”

“You can’t know that,” Bilbo whispered.

“No, I can’t, my dear. But I know that the services we were offering to you, your family and every hobbit in Hobbiton who benefited from our work, were the least we could do, to make up for our past neglect. I can’t turn back the time, no matter how much I wish for it. But I am happy that we can return to the Shire, because my time, our time there, was the best we have had ever since the loss of Erebor.”

 

When Bilbo looked at the others, Bofur confirmed Thorin’s impression. “We all were starving, and sick with worry. King Thráin was miserable and Dís was jittery with nerves, no matter how much our royals tried to hide it, it was plain as a vein of mithril in a mountain of black stone.

“When Balin was sent after Thorin and sent the first letter, confirming that there really would be food, Bombur nearly broke down with relief, although he barely allowed himself to hope. Not even Mahal himself would have kept him from traveling to the Shire once the king asked for volunteers to help you. True, we knew nothing about you, but the fact that you were prepared to marry a dwarf – somebody we thought you would despite – captivated us. And all that just to help some dwarrows you didn’t even know, to make them comfortable, even happy!”

_> Also the fact that you helped Thorin and seemed to cherish him, helped,< _Bifur added in Khuzdul.

“Yes,” Fíli translated partially. “You cared for uncle and that helped a great deal. Remember, when most of the others arrived, you were either glued to Thorin’s sickbed or traveling the Shire to get us provisions. It is hard not to like somebody who goes to any lengths to keep your people from starvation.”

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

When they finally arrived in Hobbiton, everything came to pass exactly as Bilbo had feared. On the one hand it was nice to be surrounded by friends the moment he set foot in his hometown; but on the other hand it was really hard to bear that friends and family alike pulled him to the side, separating him from his dwarrows, repeatedly fussing over his health. The general consensus was: Bilbo looked starved!

So instantly cupcakes, rolls and other treats were offered to fill Bilbo’s stomach. And though the hobbits looked at his dwarrows with distrust, they too got a few cookies and pieces of cakes because nobody would ever leave a guest uncared for.

 

Looking at each other in confusion, the dwarrows were oblivious to the reason for the slight hostility of the hobbits that surrounded them. Everybody stopped fussing when an authorative voice echoed over the marketplace, “Bilbo Baggins, you will come here this instant! And all of you, he will be with us for the entire summer, no need to crush him today.”

Adamanta Took stood in the middle of the marketplace, her son Isengar on her hips, whipping the other hobbits into shape with but one sentence. Swift as mice, the hobbits broke apart, leaving Bilbo free to follow his grandmother’s command. Hugging her grandson fiercely, before offering him his uncle who made grabby hands at Bilbo, she turned to the dwarrows.

“You!” she directed her ire at Thorin. “Care to explain why my grandson looks positively haggard? He was healthy and well-nourished when he left here, and you swore, you swore to my husband and me personally, on Erebor, your mother’s bones, everything you could think of, that you would take care of him.”

Turning towards Fíli and Kíli, she pointed a finger at them threateningly, “The same goes for the two of you. From what I see, you have done a very poor job.”

Even Bifur and Bofur felt berated by the white-haired lady-hobbit. She might be half their size, but she was as fierce as Dís on a good day. None of them dared to talk back to Bilbo’s Nana, especially not now, when they saw the other hobbits and remembered how plush and healthy everybody looked in the Shire. Judging from the way Bilbo’s clothes sat snugly on his form, he had to be a stone lighter than any of them. All of a sudden, the dwarrows did not feel as good as before, returning to here.

Had they really failed their hobbit so very much? Bilbo had appeared healthy in the Blue Mountains and had had a lot more stamina for riding, really any physical exercise, than before. When they had seen him after training or returning from his trips to the valley, he had always looked positively radiant and they had thought him happy.

Thorin had realized that Bilbo had lost weight, but he hadn’t given it much more thought than Bilbo being unhappy about it. He had tried to feed him up, but the amount of food a hobbit consumed was unfathomable for the dwarf. He had tried to sneak treats into Bilbo’s provisions, but he had never been able to match his ingestion to those of the hobbits of the Shire. Obviously he had done a pretty bad job and he was terribly ashamed of it.

 

His dwarrows were scratching the dirt of the streets with their heavy shoes, eyes firmly glued to them, so Bilbo could only take pity on them. He knew how he looked and he felt terribly self-conscious around his people. But it was not their fault that there was not enough food in the mountain, and he could have gotten more after all, Thorin had always assured him of that. It had been his decision not to take more than his fair share.

Freeing his golden clasps from Isengar’s chubby hands – oh how very much his uncle had grown these past months – Bilbo reached for his grandmother, who looked at his dwarrows like a vengeful Maia. Softly he assured her, “They have done everything in their power to keep me healthy, Nana. I have weapons training. I learn how to defend myself, how to keep my family safe. I have a friend outside the mountain, whom I visit at least thrice a week. I bake cookies with Dori and attend council meetings with the Durins. The Blue Mountains are not as plentiful as we wish them to be, so it was inevitable that I would lose weight there. But I have gained so much more, a new family and friends, a purpose and the ability to stand up for it.”

Sighing silently, he shifted his little uncle and reached for his grandmother’s hand, caressing it gently. “They have done their very best and you should not berate them for it. Please, they are my friends and my family and I love them. Can’t that be enough for you, no matter how I look?”

Looking form her grandson, who defended his dwarrows so kindly, to the said dwarrows who looked at him positively adoringly, she sighed and hugged him once again, more fiercely this time, without the intention of letting go for a while. After they had stood there for several long moments, Adamanta took back her son, much to his displeasure, and decided, “You will come to supper tomorrow evening and you will stay way past dinner. All of you! Have I made myself clear?”

A chorus of “Yes, mam” followed and finally the wife of the thain smiled at the dwarrows, bestowing a kiss to the cheek on each one of them, before returning to her shopping.

 

They were walking towards Bag End in silence, processing what they had just heard and witnessed. It was Kíli who finally asked quietly, “Were you really starving, Bilbo? Did we not take proper care of you?”

Smiling tenderly at the youngest dwarf, Bilbo offered his reins to Thorin and pulled Kíli into a hug, assuring him. “You all took excellent care of me, Kíli. Don’t you worry.”

Sharing a look with his brother, Kíli decided that Fíli too did not feel as if they had done enough during the first few months in the Blue Mountains. They had not managed to make Bilbo happy before their departure, maybe the smial in the mountain would help upon their return. And maybe he could even grow his own food on the huge terrace and he would be singing again.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 


	42. Hobbits of the Shire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Have you all been good? Have you worked hard this week? Well, here is your reward: Bilbo finally back in the Shire.

Being seen as a victim, sentenced to a life of starvation in the Blue Mountains had both its advantages and its disadvantages.

The disadvantage was that every member of his family seemed to feel the need to visit him and see how he was faring on his very first day back in the Shire. So within minutes of taking his first deep breath in the entrance hall of Bag End, there was a knock on his door.

 

The advantage was, being seen as a victim, sentenced to a life of starvation, made all his visitors bring gifts in form of food. He got a seedcake from his aunt Donnamira, and a roast from his aunt Hildigard. His mother’s brothers both brought a wide pan of roasted potatoes; Isembold’s were seasoned with rosemary, Sigismond’s with garlic. They would go lovely with the roast from his aunt for an early dinner. They didn’t have to wait long, until Hamfast and Bell came around, filling him in on all the housekeeping they had done and the few little things they had neglected, carrying a large bowl of fresh salad with them, onions, cucumbers and all included.

When the sun was slowly dying, Bilbo’s pantry was half-filled already. Several basics like flour, sugar or eggs had been provided by the Gamgee’s, because Bilbo had written them about their estimated date of arrival. Now, seeing it that filled on his very first day back home made Bilbo’s heart swell. They could have scrambled eggs for breakfast. He could bake scones with raisins again and even provide clotted cream. His grandmother had him stocked again with her delicious jams, and a whole side of bacon was already dangling from the ceiling. There was even a wheel of cheese, even though for the life of him Bilbo could not tell who had brought that.

All in all Bilbo felt ready to burst with happiness. He prepared a satisfying, albeit late, tea. Then he briefly washed himself before offering his bathroom to his dwarrows. With a smile Fíli and Kíli dashed in after him and with a laugh Bilbo informed an eager Bifur that he might need to wait a little while for them to re-emerge. He had not even bothered to offer the second tub again (he had kept it with all the dwarrows invading his home last summer) because he knew Fíli and Kíli wouldn’t need it.

It took the boys nearly an hour to leave the bathroom and take refuge in their old bedroom. When they reappeared, just in time to set the table for supper, they were barefoot, wore short trousers and long shirts. Obviously they didn't fancy their own clothes on their very first day back in Bag End.

Bifur and Bofur had already made good use of the bathroom as well and they too had heeded Bilbo's order not to wear boots indoors. Thorin had promised to take Bilbo up on his offer for a relaxing bath after dinner. He wanted to enjoy his time in the Shire and what better way to start than with a tranquil afternoon in the perfectly groomed back garden with his pipe?

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

Supper turned to dinner because after enjoying the roast and the baked potatoes, Bilbo brought out dish after dish that they had been presented with this afternoon. Though they had not starved during their journey, the dwarrows were still amazed by the amount of food Bilbo was able to consume. So after an extensive meal, they were all sitting in the back garden – Thorin had decided to take his bath now that everything was washed and stashed away and they were ready for a tranquil evening – when Fíli offered a comb and sat in the grass next to Bilbo.

With a small smile the hobbit took the tool and started untangling Fíli's messy hair. The other dwarrows just watched, enjoying the evening, not wanting to disturb the familiar peace. Kíli traded places with his brother, while Fíli stretched out in the grass beside him.

When Thorin finally emerged, Bilbo couldn't tear his eyes away from his husband. Like during his first day here in Bag End, Thorin wore ridiculously short trousers again, but they were of a dark grey material and perfectly accompanied the deep-blue shirt that was embroidered with a white rose over the heart.

Smiling brilliantly, Kíli left his place at Bilbo's feet, stretching out on the grass, head safe on his brother’s tummy, when the hobbit started to groom his husband. They did this in the Mountain too, but here Bilbo could take his time because no documents were waiting for Thorin on his desk and the hobbit didn't feel the need to make time for a scroll or a book he had wanted to look into all day.

So Bilbo's movements were languid and unhurried when he brushed Thorin's hair until it was nearly dry. The dwarf offered his beads and Fíli and Kíli closed their eyes to supress tears of joy when Bilbo started first to hum and then to sing low in his throat.

The notes and words of an ancient hobbit lullaby interwove with the sounds of crickets, carried by the soft wind of a late spring evening. It was cold; technically too cold to sit outside after sundown, but only when Bilbo was finished, both with his song and with his work, did the dwarrows venture back inside.

The first night was filled by hitched breaths and soft moans that told about how very much the Durins and their respective partners were happy to be 'home' again.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

The next morning dawned early and bright and when Bilbo opened the window of his kitchen he knew that this would be a brilliant day. So he prepared some scones for him and Thorin to enjoy for first breakfast and beat up some clotted cream that had been stored in his lower cellar to get it smooth again.

When his husband entered right on time to see the scones emerging from the oven, he didn't hesitate for a moment. Thorin approached his husband from behind und buried his nose in the crook of Bilbo's neck. Rubbing his stubble over the hobbit’s sensitive skin he evoked a giggle from Bilbo, who tried to pull in his head like a little turtle to protect it from the abrasion. A little muffled, yet audibly content, Thorin asked, "How was the first night back in your own bed?"

Grinning, Bilbo answered, "Short with very little sleep, as you are well aware. But I feel better than in months. I think the journey and the fresh air does me tons of good."

Closing his eyes for a moment, Thorin wondered somewhat hesitantly, "Do you think that there is a chance that I can get the mountain to feel like this for you?"

Sensing his husbands concern the hobbit turned around, gently caressing Thorin's cheek. "You are doing the best you can, Thorin, just like everybody else. There is nothing any of you could do, to make my life in the Blue Mountains better. I have a kitchen, a little pantry and a big window, what more could I want?"

"A home?"

The silent suggestion nearly broke Bilbo's heart and he wrapped his arms around Thorin fiercely. "Home is where you are." He would never have a home in the Blue Mountains, not like the one he had here. And that was alright with Bilbo. He had made a decision, life in the Shire or a husband who was a dwarf. He had chosen the dwarf because his own comfort had not outweighed the lives of hundreds of dwarrows. The Mountains might not be ideal for a hobbit, but his dwarvish family had made sure that he was as comfortable as possible. What more could he ask for?

After breathing in his husband’s scent of earth and lavender and sunshine, Thorin merely nodded and turned around to set the table. Bilbo was as perfect as a husband could come. He had been willing to give up his life, his home, just to help Thorin's people. And only here, after their return from the Mountains, did the dwarf really notice how much of a sacrifice that really was for Bilbo.

Ever since they had set foot into the smial, Bilbo seemed taller, walked more upright, but infinitely more relaxed. In the Mountains he had carried himself like a true member of the royal family, but there had been this weight he had fought against. His upright posture had seemed stiff and sometimes even forced. But here Bilbo seemed to be elevated; the difference was amazing.

Hobbits were confident, sure in their lives, what they did and what they expected from life. Bilbo even moved differently here, displaying a confidence he had to simulate in the mountains. His motions were sure, instinctual not influenced by worry about whether he walked two steps too fast or too slow, if he was keeping his position within the royal family – not before the king but beside Thorin, not ahead of Dís but in front of Fíli and Kíli.

There were so many rules to living as a dwarf, which Thorin had memorized all though his life, so that they were as natural to him as breathing. But here in the Shire, moving through his house, weaving through his family at the marketplace, these were the natural surroundings for Bilbo and Thorin ached because he could not give this to him in their home.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

Everybody gathered at second breakfast. Bifur and Bofur had enjoyed sleeping in and Fíli and Kíli … well, Bilbo doubted that they had gotten any more sleep than Thorin and he.

After the meal Bofur told Bilbo that he and his cousin were about to go to the marketplace, see the soap vendor and maybe meet a few children. They would see how they could make themselves useful for the next few weeks.

Aware that dwarrows did not plan to sit idly, Bilbo just smiled and waved them off. Fíli and Kíli left with them, a very clear destination on their minds, and the hobbit didn't even have to ask about it. Surely Falco and Amanda would be thrilled to see them again and Falco would be glad for the help.

Thorin was the last. After the last cup had been cleaned and stored away – it somehow irked Bilbo a little to have to use his mother's good china for everyday use – his husband dressed up and together they went to see the thain. As expected, they found Bilbo's grandfather in his office in the great hall. They were welcomed warmly, much more warmly than Bilbo's grandmother had greeted them, and offered tea and shortbread.

For a little while Bilbo and his grandfather chatted about what was going on in the Blue Mountains, but soon Bilbo noticed that his husband got fidgety. Smiling, the hobbit asked, "Keeping in mind that we will be here for about three months, my husband and I were wondering if we could find an occupation for him again. Is there a place where Thorin could put his majestic skills to good use?"

Relocating his pipe, mirroring the impish smile of his grandson, the thain shook his head with mocking sadness. "Well, regrettably there are no posts available in the office. My shirriffs are doing well, as you know your grandmother oversees the social gatherings and I … well, it was a mild winter, not much clean-up to do now. The repairs are mostly done and everybody had been paid."

When Gerontius saw the crestfallen expression of his grandson-in-law, he could not keep this charade up any longer. "But maybe, if he would be willing to make good use of his practical skills instead of his majestic ones … you know there is still a forge that needs a smith."

Aware that he had been hoodwinked, but not begrudging his hobbit family the little trick, Thorin smiled, overjoyed at the prospect of working as a smith again. So when the thain offered the key to the forge, he took it gladly and returned the embrace Gerontius offered.

As before, Bilbo helped Thorin on his very first day, but learning from last year's mistakes, where Thorin had been swarmed by hobbits as soon as he had made himself known, they kept the forge closed when making inventory. After Bilbo had strolled over the marketplace to order what Thorin was missing, stocking Bag End’s pantry for good measure, he returned to the forge, only to find it surrounded by hobbits again. But instead of demanding Thorin's attention, overwhelming him with tasks and repairs they were about to commission, they were idly chatting with him, offering elevenses, lunch and afternoon tea all in one, judging by their overflowing baskets and the delicious smell that saturated the air.

This time Bilbo did see no reason to help his husband, who seemed happy to see so many familiar faces again. Obviously the hobbits had overcome their impression of him starving Bilbo on purpose and had chosen to educate him on how to feed a hobbit properly, as well as the best way of being fed by them. So the hobbit sneaked around the forge, relaxed on the small bench in the backyard and enjoyed elevenses all on his own, while hearing his husband chatting amicably.

After a little while he could hear Thorin working the forge for the first time. The fire must not have had time to get really hot, but obviously it was enough for a first piece. Smiling to himself, brushing over his mithril bracelet, remembering the silver one Vár now held, Bilbo wondered who would receive the first piece of smithwork Thorin produced this spring.

While he debated with himself whether to return to Bag End, Thorin came out to the back, carrying a bucket to get water, still shouting to keep up the conversation with a particularly persistent hobbit. He nearly dropped the full bucket when he became aware of Bilbo, smiling up at him from his place on the backyard bench.

 

With an absentminded "hm" towards his conversation partner, Thorin stepped aside so that he was throwing a tall shadow over Bilbo. Slowly he bent down towards his hobbit and savoured the languid kiss his husband granted him, before he entered the forge once again, but not before making Bilbo promise to wait for him.

It took Thorin no more than ten minutes to re-emerge, using a rag to polish something in his hand that glittered in the sun. Kneeling before Bilbo, Thorin said, "The innkeeper arrived an hour ago, his two biggest kettles broke over the winter and he is willing to pay me double if I mend them today. I promised to do so but it will take time. As much as I would love to return with you to Bag End, I am afraid I will be here until supper."

Bilbo smirked, he really had not expected anything else from his fellow hobbits. Honestly, with a smith within reach after half a year of missing one, he was surprised that they had not offered so many commissions that Thorin would have to work through the night. Knowing them, he suspected that they already had, but Thorin had turned them down wisely, demanding a reasonable amount of time for the tasks he was offered.

"Well, if you tell me what you are holding there, I might forgive you and return home. Just don't forget that my grandmother expects us around seven," Bilbo reminded his husband.

 

Relieved that his husband obviously didn't see a problem with Thorin diving head first into work again, he requested, "Give me your necklace please."

When Bilbo offered the leather string with the crooked scale, Thorin pulled forth a tool and fastened the scale to a clinger that had another loop for the leather string to pull through. Returning it to his husband's neck, Thorin explained, "Now it's not askew any longer and it doesn't scratch your skin. The clinger will keep it in place and firmly secured to the leather string."

Looking at the new fastening for his makeshift pendant, Bilbo whispered with a small smile, "You still forged the first thing for me."

Touching his husband’s forehead, Thorin admitted affectionately, "To whom else would I devote my first workpiece? I wanted to make you a chain but that would take more time than I have right now."

After a tender kiss, Bilbo rose. "Thank you, my sweet. I will leave you to your work now. Obviously you will be well fed and won't miss anything until evening comes. Now return and satisfy the curiosity of my family, friends and neighbours, or you will get nothing done today."

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

The morning was equally enjoyable for Fíli and Kíli who made their way through Hobbiton towards the wood-workshop, spring in their steps, chatting excitedly about how much the fauntlings would have grown and if they still remembered them. Technically Fíli and Kíli had been away for longer than they had been with them so there really was a chance that the babies didn’t remember them.

 

Falco was currently trying to hoist a large wooden board onto his work-desk. He had been commissioned to make a table and this plank was perfect, it just had to be sanded down and engraved, polished and oiled before feet could be attached to it. For that he had to get it onto his workbench, and to achieve that he had to lift that beast of a piece of wood. But it resisted him at every turn.

Amanda was just sitting behind the workshop with the fauntlings crawling through the grass beside her. Currently the girl was chewing on the petals of a camomile flower, while the boy was licking at some crumpled dandelion leaves. Not wanting to keep her children from exploring the world on their own, Falco’s wife had sat down in the bright sunlight, her sewing kit beside her, repairing tears in Falco’s clothes. She heard her husband cursing lowly and asked to distract him. “Daisy told me that Bilbo and his dwarrows arrived yesterday. Do you think that Fíli and Kíli will come to visit? Maybe it was too bold to ask them to be godfathers to our children. They are dwarrows after all. I am not sure they want to take care of fauntlings all their lives.”

 

Falco struggled viciously until all of a sudden the burden eased and he was able to manoeuvre the wood onto his workbench. When he looked around he saw two dwarrows beaming at him. Unable to find words to express the sheer joy of seeing them again he pulled the both of them into his arms.

When he heard his wife asking, he merely gestured for the boys to follow him into the back garden. There Amanda was currently struggling to keep her children from approaching the workshop. “No, little ones, you can’t go in there, that’s dangerous. See the pretty flowers, they are much better to be around.”

“No, no, please …” With a deep sigh she pulled her children into her lap, holding them there when they started crying, still trying to crawl into her husband’s workshop. She didn’t want to interrupt Falco during his work with childcare, but slowly those two were getting out of hand. “Falco, I need your help. Obviously your children want to see you and they are inconsolable.”

Kneeling before his wife, kissing her forehead, Falco asked, while freeing his little daughter from her mother’s protective arms, “Do you really think that it is me they want to see?”

Sighing slightly, Amanda shook her head. “Yes … no … well the workshop _was_ the place where Fíli and Kíli could always be found when they were here. Do you think they somehow know that they are back?”

“Well,” Falco stated while putting his baby-girl to the ground, watching her as she was crawling babbling towards Kíli who was already kneeling in the backdoor of the workshop, opening his arms for her. “I think the little ones are a little more perceptive than you give them credit for, my love.”

Reaching for her daughter, Amanda’s eyes got huge when she saw the two dwarrows. Her baby-boy was twisting heavily in her arms and with a laugh she sat him down. As soon as he hit the grass he immediately made his way over to Fíli.

Fíli and Kíli both swept the children up into their arms, laughing and spinning with them under the bright morning sunlight. Instantly both fauntlings were calmed, reaching for their long-missed friends, pulling their hair, chewing at the strings of their shirts, apparently being very happy and content with having them back. Laughing with joy, Fíli belatedly answered Missus Chubb-Baggins’s question. “We will always want to come back, Missus, whenever you are willing to have us here.”

Kíli added, “With our grandfather’s permission of course. Promise!”

When the fauntlings were calmed, Fíli and Kíli approached Amanda and hugged her lovingly. A hug that was returned with considerable force, while the lady-hobbit admitted, “I have missed the two of you so much. You didn’t even bother to write, you naughty boys.” She scolded in the next breath, looking up at two dwarrows who at least had the mind to look slightly remorseful at that.

But when the babies demanded their attention once again, they continued to play with them for nearly an hour, chatting amicably with the parents, explaining about all the things they had done in the Mountains, bragging especially about the smial they planned for Bilbo.

Falco’s smile vanished when he said, “Good of you. As soon as Bilbo was gone, Lobelia started boasting about moving into Bag End before the end of this year. We managed to keep her calm but word has spread within the family. It would not surprise me if one Baggins or another would pay Bilbo a visit.”

“Lobelia?”

“Moving into Bag End?”

“Why?”

“How?”

Confused Fíli and Kíli looked at each other. They had wanted Bilbo to have a second home. The thought of giving up his first was … well, unthinkable!

Now it was Amanda’s turn to shake her head perplexedly. “But you just said that you were building a smial for him. Why would you do that if you hadn’t known about the deal between Bilbo and Otho in the first place?”

“Because we want him to be happy in the Blue Mountains!” Kíli clarified. “We didn’t know …”

But Fíli got to the heart of the matter and interrupted his brother. “What deal, Missus Amanda?”

Sharing a puzzled look with her husband, who merely shrugged, Amanda explained, “Bilbo signed an agreement. In exchange of nine tenths of his harvest of hybrid seed, Otho would get Bag End at the end of this year’s harvest season. We thought you knew and that you all had returned here, to clear out Bag End so that Lobelia won’t get her sticky paws on Bilbo’s heirlooms.”

Looking at each other, white as sheets, both Fíli and Kíli shook their heads, admitting quietly, “No, we didn’t know.”

Falco wrung his hands uneasily. “Maybe we should not have said anything. If Bilbo had kept this from you, he might have a good reason. Please, you two have to keep this to yourself. Bilbo will tell you eventually: It was an agreement between him and his cousin, in the end it’s nobody’s business but Bilbo’s and Otho’s.”

 

Nodding, still shocked by the revelation, Fíli and Kíli offered the fauntlings to Amanda, who decided that playtime was over and that the little ones had to be fed before naptime. The dwarrows helped Falco with the preparations of the wood, taking good care of the precious piece. Both knew that such big planks had to be rare. But they were distracted all through the afternoon and when they wanted to return to Bag End right after tea, neither Falco nor Amanda tried to stop them.

True to their promise they didn’t mention anything, but started looking around in a home Bilbo was about to lose. Seeing him so happy there was nearly more they could take. There had to be a way, a way to save as much of Bag End as possible. Ori had drawings of this place, which they had seen him sketching all through the last summer. Maybe they could decorate the smial in the Blue Mountains accordingly, but on the other hand, it would never be Bag End. No matter how much they tried.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 


	43. Familiar faces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A family dinner at the Took's residence goes better than expected and new carrier ravens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, thank each and every one of you who found words of encouragement and comfort for me. They meant more to me than I can ever tell you.  
> You all helped me to finish this part, even when I don't know if I will continue afterwards. There are so many ideas but I have started another story today and started flying though it. In my mind that's what fanfiction should be like: flying through the scenes, not being able to hold back. I hope, with all my heart, that I can be able to find back to Serve and Obey but it might take a while. But at least for the next month weeks you will still receive new chapters every five days until this part ends. And believe me, the ending is worth waiting for ;).  
> Love you all  
> Anchanee

When Bilbo and his dwarrows walked to his grandparents’ smial, the dwarrows were fidgeting, plucking nervously at their clothes. The wanted to make the best impression possible – understandable after the scene his grandmother had caused at the marketplace. The hobbit feared that it would be an evening full of tension.

Once the guests had been greeted, his grandmother proved him right – she simply left them in the hallway. Bilbo was handed Isengar and ushered into the living room to entertain his little uncle.

The dwarrows lingered in the hallway, unsure of what to do with themselves. Nobody wanted a repetition of the scolding Adamanta had given them the day before.

Unwilling to leave his dwarrows like this, Bilbo set up his little uncle in a maze of building blocks – the fauntling immediately started to lick the green ones and then sampled his way through the rest – and returned to the hallway. In the dining room tables had been assembled but had not been set yet. So he asked his friends to push them together to build a long banquet table like they used in the mountains. Grateful to be useful, the dwarrows put them together and fetched plates and cutlery.

After a quick glance towards the living room – Isengar seemed to be sorting his building blocks by taste – Bilbo entered the kitchen to see if he could help. He found not only his grandmother but his aunt Donnamira and Mirabella in front of the stove, seasoning roast and stirring vegetables.

His grandmother didn't even turn around when he entered. "I would have let them to stew in their own juice until dinner! Obviously they don't know the first thing about the eating habits of hobbits."

Bilbo shook his head, replying kindly, "They did their very best, Nana; gave me as much as they could spare. You know I only proposed because they were starving and grandfather forced this stupid condition on them before he would trade with them once again. Remembering the hardships we had to endure during Fell Winter, could you really burden your conscience with the knowledge of dwarrows starving to death just because we denied our help?"

"What good did it do, Bilbo? All the food you acquired for them and this is how you come out of it? When was the last time you looked into a mirror? You look skinny! Yes, you are strong, I give you that, and you have gained confidence. I saw the way you carried yourself when you defended them yesterday. You would make a good thain one day, but not if you don't survive this!"

Laughing out loud because he finally realized that his grandmother was masking her fears for him with anger, Bilbo put their foreheads together affectionately and whispered to her. "Nana, don't you get it? This is the worst it can get! We have the food from the Shire. We have planted the rye. The farmers are currently creating vast vegetable patches _and_ the dwarrows hunt in the surrounding woods. You don't have to worry about my getting thinner. I have gained three pounds over the last month because the worst lies behind us."

Before Amanda could react to the uncharacteristically dwarvish gesture, Mirabella hugged her from behind. "Do you really think that Belladonna would want her family to spend the first evening together after her son’s wedding arguing, mama?"

Hearing the name of her lost child nearly brought tears to Adamanta's eyes; she pulled Bilbo into a fierce hug and Donnamira joined her family cuddling.

Quietly, Adamanta admitted, "I can't bear to lose you as well, Bilbo. Not after everything that has happened."

"You won't," Bilbo promised. "You won't lose me if you don't make me choose between my families."

"I wouldn't, Bilbo. I will never make you choose."

"Really? Would you subject your family to an evening where they are treated like villains when they have done nothing wrong?" Bilbo asked lowly.

After a brief nod, Adamanta kissed both Bilbo and her daughters before leaving the kitchen.

 

Hugging his aunts, grateful for their support, Bilbo tried to sneak past them to nick a carrot from the pot of soup that simmered on the stove. But all he got was a slap with a wooden spoon.

Rubbing his hand, feigning hurt, the hobbit whined, "Excuse me, I was lacking food these past months. Do you really begrudge me one tiny carrot, aunt Mirabella?"

Sternly, the lady-hobbit tapped the tip of Bilbo's nose with the back of the spoon. "The only thing you are lacking, dear nephew, are manners! A proper hobbit would never steal food when dinner is about to be served. Now keep your sticky paws to yourself and go and put the bread on the table."

Smiling because all this was so overwhelmingly familiar – his mother would have said and done just the same – Bilbo bowed deeply. "At your service, dear aunt."

Winking, Donnamira threw her sister a glance. "Well, at least he picked up some nice manners from these dwarrows. Maybe not everything is lost."

Laughing, the women returned to the food and started to prepare the first course.

When Bilbo put the bread baskets on the table, he saw his grandmother talking to his dwarrows in the next room. They all nodded at something she said and then hugged her fiercely. But before he could sneak closer to find out what was being said, his grandfather entered the smial, two sons, two sons-in-law and several children in tow.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

After the bumpy start, the evening turned out to be quite pleasant and everybody seemed to have a good time. All grownups had a place at the table but the fauntlings were running underfoot, sometimes eating but mostly playing.

It was strange for the dwarrows, to see such havoc since they had always been at their best behaviour during meals in Bag End. On the other hand no children had ever been over for dinner last summer. Still, despite the noise level, everybody seemed quite relaxed and enjoying themselves and the good mood of the hobbits was contagious.

When they felt like eating, the fauntlings climbed on the lap of whatever grownup had the food they liked best. Sometimes they only reached for it, stuffed their mouths and ran off again, but most of the times – after a subtle cough from one of their parents – they neatly picked up the extra silverware that lay prepared for them and ate with flawless manners.

When the laps of all the hobbits were filled, Bifur and Bofur were the first to be approached. Most fauntlings remembered them from previous year’s harvest week. It didn’t seem to bother them that they couldn’t understand what Bifur was saying. Communication didn't always need words, only a firm gesture towards the dish they desired.

Fíli and Kíli, ever good natured, had only a few moments to eat in peace, before two girls decided that their laps were the places they wanted to eat from. After climbing them they politely asked for a few dishes and ate them with impeccable manners.

Thorin was the last one to be approached. At least until a little boy with eyes that shone like fresh grass, pulled his sleeve. When the dwarf looked down, the little boy asked seriously, "Is it true that you eated all food from Bilbo?"

"Paladin!" Came a collective reprimand from all the hobbits at the table. But the young boy seemed unfazed. His eyes firmly stuck on Thorin, he waited for an answer.

With a smile, Thorin kneeled before him, something that made the fauntling clutch his toy bunny for support, but still he didn't take even a small step back. Kindly the dwarf responded, "I would rather starve myself than take anything from your uncle Bilbo."

While thinking about the answer, the little boy's forehead creased. After a little while, he corrected Thorin, "Bilbo is my cousin, first grade, not my uncle!"

Thorin ducked his head ruefully. "Apologies, Master Took."

After that, the little boy opened his arms to be lifted and decided, "I will eat with you. You are nice _and_ polite. Momma says it's important to be polite!"

At another collective groan, both Paladin and Thorin raised their eyebrows, looking innocently at the hobbits. Putting some carrots on his plate before buttering a scone, Thorin asked, "What? If I were to share my place with somebody, I too would make sure that he is not stealing my food. That's quite sensible."

"We share!" The little offered, holding up a squished piece of scone with butter. As was obviously expected of him, Thorin took the bite and absentmindedly cleaned the boy's fingers with his napkin while reaching for a piece of roast and some more vegetables for the fauntling.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

The meal lasted for several hours and watching these hobbits eat, the dwarrows realized for the first time the significance food had for them. Clearly this was nothing more than an evening for a family to spend together. They chatted and had fun, there was no formality and everybody seemed relaxed. At the same time a constant supply of different courses was provided.

Though they helped themselves to smaller and smaller portions with each course, the dwarrows still had to admit defeat halfway through the meal. The hobbits seemed worried because of that, until Bilbo assured them that dwarrows simply couldn't stomach as much as a hobbit during one meal, no matter how long it lasted.

When midnight approached, all the leftovers were stored away and the kitchen was cleaned by the males, since the females had cooked. The hobbits lounged in the living room, liqueur and pipe fumes flavoured the air. The couples lay relaxed in each other’s arms, even Fíli and Kíli, and nobody looked twice at them. The fauntlings had found resting places on numerous laps, on armchairs or curled up on sofas.

Quietly Bilbo told stories of the Blue Mountains. About the stubborn council-members, the challenges he faced every day simply for being a hobbit in a mountain full of dwarrows and about his avian friend. His aunts and uncle spoke about their work and their fauntlings. While his grandfather was summarizing the events of the winter, how mild it had been and how fortunate they had been, Bilbo fell asleep in Thorin's arms.

When the stories died down, the couples roused sleepily to return to their homes.

Thorin insisted that Bilbo was not to be woken and that he was strong enough to carry him to Bag End. Bofur offered his coat to protect their hobbit from the night's chill. All wrapped up, ready to leave, the dwarrows were held back one last time by Bilbo's grandmother. Though she had apologized for her behaviour earlier this evening, she still had something to say.

Thorin looked at her patiently. This moment was simply perfect, after a relaxing evening he had his husband trustingly sleeping in his arms. He doubted that anything she said could burst his bubble of content.

He realized how wrong he had been when Adamanta whispered, caressing his cheek affectionately, "I can see that you love my grandson very much and that you are taking good care of him. Thank you, Thorin. I really couldn't with for a better partner for him than you."

Thorin froze at these words, not realizing that his family and friends nudged him aside to hug their hostess and thank her for the lovely evening.

 

All the way back to Bag End Thorin felt petrified. He had to be extremely obvious in the display of his emotions when even Bilbo's grandmother could see them. How long would it take for his husband to pick them up? Bilbo had married him out of a sense of obligation, not out of love. Surely the hobbit wouldn't fancy a life where he knew about Thorin's feelings but couldn't return them. Worst of all, what if he felt obliged to return them? Feelings couldn't be conjured; they had to grow by themselves. How could Thorin force Bilbo into such a situation where the hobbit might expect something from him that he simply couldn't give?

Strangely it was Bifur who held Thorin back, when the others entered Bilbo's smial. At Thorin's questioning look the warrior inquired, _> You did not know that you were so easy to read when it came to Bilbo?<_

The prince merely swallowed, looked at his sleeping husband and shook his head.

_> You never thought about telling him?<_

Closing his eyes, Thorin whispered, _> How can I? He doesn't return my feelings. I would make our situation impossibly hard. I can't do that to him. He deserves for me to make his life easier, not more complicated.<_

 

Bifur smiled affectionately at his prince. He had stood by Thorin after the disastrous battle of Azanulbizar. He had been at his command, convinced that the young dwarf was making the right choices, when their true king had been beside himself with grief after the loss of his father and son in such quick succession.

Thorin had faced armies, fought orcs, stood up to men who had tried to best their people. But now, facing this halfling he stood quivering in fear, afraid of revealing his feelings to a hobbit whose heart already belonged to him. Because no matter what, Bifur saw the way Bilbo looked at and treated his husband. There was no doubt in his mind that there was deep love motivating them.

Touching their foreheads carefully, minding his axe, Bifur asked quietly, _> How can you be so sure, my prince? Sometimes all you need is a little faith that someone will catch you when you allow yourself to fall.<_

Before Thorin could reply, Bifur bowed deeply and entered the smial. He loved his prince; he truly did. Thorin was a good dwarf, loyal and strong, determined to do what was best for his people and protective of them to a fault. But sometimes, sometimes he wished that he could give his liege a good shove into the right direction since he was so obviously blind to what was right in front of him, unable to see that he already possessed his heart's desire.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

Smiling sleepily, Bilbo recalled last night. After a bumpy start the evening had been perfect. His family had welcomed the dwarrows with open arms and despite their surprise that the dwarrows had folded halfway through the meal, they still had spoiled them to the best of their abilities. He looked down at the dark mop of unruly hair that lay splayed out on his chest, affectionately caressing it.

Thorin however lay uncharacteristically still. Usually the dwarf moved a little in his sleep but now he breathed evenly, too evenly for someone who was still asleep. So Bilbo asked in a whisper, so as to not wake his husband if he misinterpreted the situation. “My sweet, are you awake?”

For a moment Bilbo thought he felt Thorin flinching a little. But when the dwarf looked up after a heartbeat, a small smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Obviously.” Searching his husband’s eyes for a moment, Bilbo thought them sad, but before he could ask what was bothering Thorin, the dwarf kissed him quickly before leaving the bed mumbling, “It is already past eight. I think we overslept and missed first breakfast.”

Shooting up, Bilbo followed Thorin’s line of sight out of the window. He realized that his husband was absolutely right. It was closer to second breakfast than to first. So he had to hurry, or he and his guests would be too late for … well, everything. A respectable hobbit simply didn't linger in bed all day. So Bilbo dashed through his bedroom, put on some basics and hurried to the kitchen.

Once the door was closed behind his hobbit, Thorin leaned against the window-frame. Bilbo’s bedroom overlooked his beautiful garden, but this morning he was blind to the vibrant colours outside. How should he do this? How _could_ he do this, if his emotions were so obvious to those around him? Telling Bilbo was out of the question.

Thorin had been humbled by the hobbit’s willingness to leave anything behind just for the sake of his people. And Bilbo had done so much more in the Blue Mountains than merely endure his fate. He had set himself to the task of making the dwarrows’ lives better, simply by providing insights into nature, which even their farmers lacked. He cared about the food, but also about the people.

As royal consort he was known to have an open ear for everybody. The female dwarrows downright adored him. Bilbo was a no-nonsense kind of person who did what was necessary and wasn’t afraid of getting his hands dirty to get the job done.

Therefore Thorin saw it as his duty to make his husband's life as easy as possible. Unwanted emotional attachments were no way to achieve that, so he had to get a grip on himself!

Sighing deeply he started to dress, ready to face Bilbo once again. The hobbit had stated on numerous occasions that he saw Thorin as his best friend, the person that mattered most to him. He had already picked up on Thorin's unease this morning, so the dwarf had to be careful to keep his feelings hidden.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

After a light breakfast and once everything was cleaned, Bilbo returned to his bedroom. He didn’t fancy the task he had set himself for today, but he had promised to fulfil it. At the beginning Bilbo had hated the hobbit that was now serving his sentence in the Blue Mountains. After Gentian’s apology his feelings had toned down to simple dislike. Still, he had to deliver the letters that Gentian had written. He owed the Longleafs as much. They had done nothing wrong after all.

So he reached for the stack of letters he had kept hidden from Thorin, for all of the Longleaf family and the business associates of the pottery. Picking up the messages Bilbo, put on a waistcoat and topcoat, making sure he looked respectable, before leaving the smial. It would be a long day, no use dawdling.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

It was past teatime when Bilbo returned home. He had visited Thorin briefly, but his husband had been buried in work up to his nose and had admitted that he couldn’t make it to the smial in time for a quiet afternoon tea as it had been their habit last summer. Still he had promised to return in time for supper.

Preparing a hot tea and arranging some colourful cupcakes on a pretty plate, Bilbo entered his back garden so sit in the warm sunlight, thinking about today's events.

The Longleafs had … well … not at all acted as Bilbo had expected them to. Honestly he had imagined them to be angry, downright hostile towards him for getting Gentian into trouble (no matter how much the hobbit had deserved it). But the opposite had turned out to be true.

They had invited him in politely. They had accepted the letters and mumbled their thanks but beyond that they had avoided his eyes, speaking very little in his presence. Bilbo had been so angry for so very long about what had happened to Thorin, that he realized only now how much Gentian’s actions had cost his own family. True, the thain had decided that the family business would get a temporary leader, but the truth was, Gentian had inherited a run-down pottery from his parents and had been the driving force in getting it back to business.

He had been a brilliant potter and a skilled vendor. He had created innovative designs and sturdy dishes that every hobbit could be proud of owning. Without him, it seemed that the business had lost its soul. Still nobody dared to complain, because Gentian had brought this on himself by touching somebody unwantedly. There was no greater offense in the Shire, and despite his family’s love for him, they were terribly ashamed.

Bilbo had never thought about how his grandfather’s decision to send Gentian away would concern his family; but being the hobbit he was, he knew that he had to do his best to rectify this wrong. Gentian’s family didn't deserve this fate, so Bilbo would do something about it.

After preparing a slow cooking dish, Bilbo entered his study. For a moment he was taken aback by how empty this room looked without his books, but quickly he shoved the melancholy aside and started to summarize the situation of the Longleaf family with as few words as possible, while asking for help at the same time. Folding the paper into a small tube he knew the ravens of the Blue Mountain to carry, he entered his pantry.

The ravens of the Shire didn’t know him. Still, Bilbo was sure that they could talk since Thorin had asked them to deliver a message to the Blue Mountains last summer.

So he collected cookies, some leftover pieces of meat, since he had developed a habit of keeping leftovers after getting to know Vár better, and a bag of nuts for good measure. If the ravens of the Mountains liked such treats, surely the birds of the Shire would not be indifferent to them. After being thoroughly stocked with items of bribery, the hobbit left his smial for the nearest wood. He knew that ravens were living there, and he could only pray that they were willing to talk to him. A rider simply would not be fast enough and Gentian’s family business had lacked guidance for the last six months.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

It didn’t take Bilbo long to find a flock of ravens, perched in the branches of several trees. The birds ignored him, too used to having hobbits running through their woods. But Bilbo was more attuned to these birds now. His eyes travelled over the flock, trying to find the leader.

When he spotted a bird twice the size of the others, closely snuggled to two hatchlings, the hobbit bowed deeply to him before spreading out his gifts. “I greet you, Lord of the Ravens. I am bringing gifts for you and your flock.” It was a greeting that went a little (alright, a lot) over the top, but Bilbo had learned to butter up these birds in order to get what he wanted.

But … no reaction from the raven. Apparently a simple hobbit was not ‘important’ enough to warrant a conversation. Remembering that he was dealing with the royalty of birds, Bilbo decided to call upon his status. Bowing deeply the hobbit stated, “I am Bilbo Baggins-Oakenshield, consort of Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thráin, current ruler of the Blue Mountains. I consider myself a friend of the ravens of the Blue Mountains and bring greetings from them.”

At that introduction the tall bird fluffed himself up and flew down, brushing directly over Bilbo’s head, zipping his hair slightly with his claws. When the hobbit didn't seem faced by this 'attack' he landed on the rock in front of the hobbit and eyed him suspiciously. After a while he said, “Little hobbit’s a liar! Ravens of the Mountains NEVER greet Shire. Much too arrogant. If you knew them you would know!”

Smiling when he had cracked that particular nut, Bilbo ducked his head in apology. “You are right of course, Master Raven. Vár didn’t send her greetings. But that doesn’t mean that she shouldn’t. I don’t see what the birds of the mountains have on you to warrant such condescension. I will surely mention that to her at the end of the summer.”

Apparently the raven realized that he had been tricked into talking and he hid his embarrassment by probing the meat, raising his head after the first bite, reprimanding again. “Hobbit still liar.”

Yet despite these dismissive words, the raven croaked and after a heartbeat a deafening sound of wings from above made Bilbo retreat. He smiled, watching the ravens bickering over nuts: they really were no different from their cousins in the Blue Mountains.

After a little while Bilbo realized that the huge raven had perched himself on a branch right beside his head, grooming himself after his meal. Casually Bilbo leaned against the tree, waiting for the raven to speak up again. Of course the bird caved after a few moments, a hobbit who knew the ravens of the Blue Mountains was too unique to not warrant curiosity. “What does consort of future king want?”

Pulling forth the small tube with the letter, Bilbo showed them to the raven. “I wish to send a message to the Blue Mountains. Do you think anybody of your flock would be willing to carry it?”

“More food in the Mountain?”

With a smile Bilbo nodded. “Yes, if you ask the king for ‘Bombur’, I am sure a vast amount of entrails, nuts or cookies can be found for your carrier.”

Satisfied with the answer, the bird watched his flock eat for a little while longer and then whistled a sharp tone. A sturdy bird landed on the branch right beside him, watching the hobbit with interest. After grooming the bird a little, the raven decided, “Daughter's strongest flyer.”

After smoothing the feathers on her father’s chest, the lady-raven descended to Bilbo’s knee, allowing the hobbit to secure the messenger-tube on her foot, before offering one last cookie he had held back.

Taking it carefully from his hands, she rubbed her beak over his thumb before ascending into the air. It took her not more than a minute to disappear form view. Thoughtfully Bilbo asked, “How much time will she need to reach the Mountain?”

The raven finished his grooming before he answered. “Three sunsets.”

Taking a relieved breath, because at that speed he could hear form the mountain within a week, Bilbo rose. On an afterthought he added, “I am living in Bag End, that's the smial with the green door at the top of the hill. You and your flock are welcome to visit any time you want.”

Aloft the raven spread his wings. “Hobbit who lives with dwarrows. Everyone knows,” he croaked before returning to his branch snuggling the two hatchlings close to his chest once again.

 

Shaking his head Bilbo returned home. Yes, he was the only hobbit who lived with dwarrows, the entire Shire knew that. He just hadn’t thought that this news had spread in the animal kingdom as well. Apparently birds were as gossiping as hobbits, at least when they could talk. Now he had to find a way to stock his pantry on entrails to satisfy these birds.

Ravens were hard to crack but when they talked to you, you were as good as family. Vár had explained that to him when he had asked exasperatedly once, why she expected him to share whatever he had, whenever they saw each other.

“Family,” she had informed him, “shares!”

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 


	44. The first party of the season

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The most joyous occasion of all!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised you I would take up this story on my birthday again. Well I started 5 days earlier and you can expect regular updates every 5 days until this part is finished. I hope you will enjoy it. It was really fun to write!

The following weeks the dwarrows tried to adapt to being back in the Shire. They needed a few days to get used to the languid schedule of the Shirelings again. Hobbits were a lot more carefree than dwarrows when it came to their work, which, more often than not, left the dwarrows without direction of what to do with their time. Surely everything was discussed and revised and scheduled but if something took longer, then it simply did.

Bifur and Bofur had tremendous fun with the soap vendor. Everybody appreciated their work so much that it was a joy to carve the soap bars into the most fantastic shapes. But when the wood-carver got his hands on them, they were monopolized from that day on. He provided wood, tools and a few toys to work with. His workshop was swarmed with children at any given time: even though they couldn’t buy something, they just came in to watch him work and chat. Bifur and Bofur loved this and outmatched each other with new toys each and every day.

 

A most welcome surprise was Violet visiting them every day. Her mother usually protested the girl’s desire to go to the wood-carver’s shop yet again, but she relaxed when she realized that the girl simply wanted to talk to her friends and not get a new toy. It took the dwarrows nearly a whole week to realize that the little girl was subtly inquiring about Bombur’s whereabouts in the Blue Mountains. She practically hung on their lips whenever they started to talk about him.

When her questions became too obvious, they asked Violet outright if she missed Bombur. The little girl blushed up to the tips of her pointy ears and vanished into the marketplace. Conspiratorially her mother admitted, “She has talked about nobody else this whole winter. She painted pictures of him and herself. She even collected recipes to send to him as a token of her affection. But we didn’t have a chance to do that, since nobody was traveling during the winter months.”

Flabbergasted, Bofur asked circumspectly, “So, you say little Miss Violet has a crush on my brother Bombur?”

“Well I didn’t want to give her too much hope, since your brother is a handsome dwarf and all that, and an important one too as Chef of the Blue Mountains. I am sure he has plenty of admirers and is not really interested in a little hobbit girl from the Shire fancying him. But he was really nice to her, both here and in the Blue Mountains. There is no reason not to reach for the stars when you are nine years old.” After that revelation she winked and followed her daughter.

Turning towards the wood-carver who had listened discreetly from behind his workbench, Bofur asked, “My brother is considered a handsome dwarf with an important position around here?” True, Bombur was chef in the Blue Mountains, but with dwarrows that was a job that had to be filled, not a position of particular honour or standing.

Chuckling low in his throat, the elderly hobbit shrugged. “Well, objectively your brother has beautiful hair with very artistic braids. His plush form would make any woman proud to call him her own and his meals are … well, he is the closest thing to the perfect dwarf we can imagine here in the Shire. Half the winter our women tried to copy his recipes, but although Missus Took came closest, still the perfect seasoning eluded her. Little Miss Violet has searched high and low for the perfect recipe to offer and she had spent a lot of time copying it and enhancing it. It truly is a work of art now. The only question is if she will muster the courage to give it to you so that you can play envoy of her affection.”

 _> The perfect dwarf, wait till my cousin hears that!<_ Bifur chuckled good natured.

Bofur could only shake his head. Hobbits never ceased to amaze him.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

The second week the dwarrows were all told to stay at Bilbo’s and not to attend their respective occupations.

Adamanta Took had given them a list of tasks to complete and once they had gone over it, Thorin groaned. His nephews on the other hand had beamed at Bilbo. They were supposed to gather the party tables, rub them clean, repair them if necessary and oil them for the season. As the hobbits had no short supplies of these tables, they would work for three days straight to get the task done.

Bifur and Bofur – as family to the Chef of the Mountains – were tasked with gathering the necessary ingredients for the feast, shipping it all to Bag End, for Bilbo had once again offered his smial as centre for the organization.

Falco and Amanda did their best to support him, but more often than not Bilbo paid for the deliveries himself and even Fíli and Kíli offered a share of their money to make sure that only the best food would be on the tables at the name-giving feast of ‘their’ fauntlings. Food was important to hobbits, no matter if they were one or one hundred years old. Every last inhabitant of Bag End wanted this party to be memorable.

 

Three days prior to the party the cooking started. Meat was seasoned, vegetables were cleaned, flour was sieved and nuts were chopped. All in all, neither Bilbo nor his house guests had a moment of peace to themselves. But this time, with Fíli and Kíli’s enthusiastic behaviour to spur them on, they all chipped in eagerly, willing to help the young princes to make everything perfect.

Thorin was glad for the commotion, since it gave him the time to collect himself and rein in his feelings. His husband was clearly happy, so he wouldn’t want to spoil their short time in the Shire with unwarranted emotions. In the dark hours of the night, however, there was nothing Thorin could do to control himself. Every tender brush of Bilbo’s hands on his skin, every passionate caress, it all elevated him and he had to bite his tongue not to spill his feelings for his husband in the heat of the moment. Scared to speak his mind, he showered his hobbit with affection because otherwise he feared that he would burst. He worshipped Bilbo whenever the hobbit allowed it, to show his appreciation for his husband. So yes, Thorin was pretty happy at the moment.

If Bilbo noticed that his husband was a little distant, more withdrawn during the day, he kept this knowledge to himself.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

The day of the name-giving ceremony started grey and overcast. The faces of Fíli and Kíli fell when they peeked out of the kitchen window, but Bilbo promised, “Today will be brilliant, the first really hot day of the season.”

Needless to say, his dwarrows didn’t believe him and looked like their favourite treats had been stolen, at least until the morning fog lifted and the sun started to melt the clouds in the sky. Around midday they had to roll up their sleeves from the effort of carrying dish after dish towards the party meadow, since the sun was beating down on them. They were so giddy that Thorin and Bilbo had to physically restrain them and usher them into a bath to clean up for the ceremony.

Both Bilbo and Thorin were already in their best clothes. Bilbo had chosen his creamy shirt, the brown trousers and the deep red coat that were the sign of the Baggins family. Satisfied that he looked entirely the part of a respectful hobbit, he smiled when Thorin held out his headband, and lifted up his hair eagerly for Thorin to fasten it beneath his golden locks. When Thorin turned away again, Bilbo reached for him and intertwined their fingers.

The hobbit spoke in a soft hush as if he wouldn’t want to startle his dwarf. “Thorin I … I just wanted to ask if anything is worrying you. You have been … distant these past two weeks, working through lunch, skipping tea. I am just wondering, are you not happy here? Would you prefer us to return to the Blue Mountains?”

Frozen by fear when his husband started questioning him, Thorin relaxed and smiled relieved when Bilbo revealed what he thought to be the problem. Stepping closer so that he could hug his hobbit, making sure not to disturb his impeccable attire, Thorin kissed Bilbo’s forehead and whispered reassuringly, “There is no place in Middle-earth I would rather be than by your side. If you are happy here, so am I. And besides, who would mend your neighbour’s pots or sharpen their knives if we would return to the Blue Mountains now?”

Exhaling relievedly, Bilbo returned the embrace. He was aware that the Blue Mountains were not the best place for him to be. The concern that the same was true for Thorin and the Shire had eaten away at him. Having his dwarf confirm with an earnest smile that he liked working under all circumstances dispelled these worries and lifted a huge weight off Bilbo’s shoulders. And though he was aware that Thorin was deflecting, Bilbo decided to let it pass. This was the day of Amanda and Falco’s fauntlings. Nothing should spoil that.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

The ceremony started mid-afternoon. Everybody gathered under the great Party Tree, where Falco and Amanda put their fauntlings into Fíli and Kíli’s arms. The young dwarrows’ faces gleamed with pride when they turned towards the Shirelings, careful not to jostle the little ones.

Thorin and Bilbo smiled at each other proudly. It had been a hard task to make those two look presentable with all their nervous energy bottled up. They had squirmed all through the braiding and had not been able to fasten the strings on their shirts because they had been so excited. But now they stood there, with the babies in their arms, as respectable as they came.

The Old Took cleared his throat audibly, effectively silencing the hobbits on the meadow. Everybody was excited as there truly was no greater joy than a name giving. In a warm tone, the thain recited, “We have gathered here today, to hear the names of these two fauntlings.” He paused briefly, letting his eyes wander over his family, friends and finally over the two godfathers who held the babies in their arms protectively. Gently caressing the childrens’ heads he continued.

“A name, once given, will be forever linked with a face, a walk, a laugh and all the mannerisms we develop and are known by. These children’s names will be spoken, whispered, shouted, cried, sung and written countless times by their family, friends, teachers, lovers, and hopefully by their children and grandchildren. Our names are what we are, what Yavanna will call us when we enter her eternal garden. Now tell us, Fíli and Kíli, sons of Dís, what names will the Green Lady know these fauntlings by?”

Blanching, the brothers looked at each other. Until now they had not realized that nobody had actually told them the names the children were supposed to bear. When they turned towards the parents, both Amanda and Falco looked at them expectantly. Helplessly they gazed at their uncle who seemed as puzzled as they were.

Finally it was Gerontius who saved them. “Are you willing to be their godfathers? Willing to help them, protect them and support them all through their lives and to shelter them through any storm?”

Both dwarrows nodded enthusiastically, “Yes, of course.”

“Of course we are.”

Smiling, the thain informed them, “So the honour of choosing their names is yours.”

 

Shivering nervously, because they were not prepared for this, Fíli and Kíli taxed their brains for names suitable for hobbit fauntlings. Their confusion showed clear on their faces when they looked at each other, communicating wordlessly.

They were interrupted by a fauntling who cried out from the protection of his mother’s arms. “Don’t you know any flowers? Just pick one, but not a weed; everybody would make fun of them if you would call them scratch grass.”

A low chuckle sounded over the meadow. Apparently nobody saw any harm in that advice.

Falco and Amanda stepped closer to the dwarrows, briefly touching their arms. “You are dwarrows, we know that.”

“You are more interested in stones than in flowers,” Falco stated.

“We have faith in you, just pick a name,” Amanda assured them tenderly. “We know it will be beautiful!”

When Kíli looked at his brother helplessly, Fíli shook his head self-consciously. He looked down at the baby-boy in his arms, got lost in the beautiful green eyes that shone joyfully just like his sister’s. All at once the dwarf’s face lit up and he reached into his pocket. A leather string dangled from between his fingers and Kíli understood.

The blond prince took a step towards the hobbits and opened his hand, presenting a beautiful, shimmering green stone. Solemnly he announced, “In Erebor we used to have this tradition: on the day a child was given his or her name, the godfather or godmother gifted the baby with a stone. A stone that symbolises all the blessings the godparent wishes for the child.” Holding up a flawless green stone, that reflected the sunlight he said, “The peridot is a stone of compassion. He stands for renewal, abundance and prosperity. He enhances healing and ensures harmony in relationships, be it between friends or partners. This stone’s name is the one you should carry because this is what I wish for you for every day of your life, Peridot Chubb-Baggins!”

With a proud smile the Old Took nodded at Kíli to join his brother.

Beaming with pride, the youngest dwarven prince presented a beautiful intertwined pendant of the purest green stone imaginable. In a clear voice that carried far over the party meadow he announced, “This is the stone of the heart. She can attract and enhance love of all kind. She also is a stone of generosity and fidelity. You, my pretty girl, shall carry this name because generosity, fidelity and all the love in Middle-earth is what I wish for you, Jade Chubb-Baggins.”

Deafening cheers and the new names of Peridot and Jade echoed over the meadow. Fíli and Kíli had chosen well and Amanda and Falco were beaming at them. They took the children so that the dwarrows could fasten their name stones at their clothes. Once the fauntlings would be about and running they could wear them around their necks. For now they were just a symbol of all blessings their godfathers wished to bestow on them.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

The party that followed the ceremony was exceptional. There were only so many flowers and variations of their names that the Shirelings knew about, therefore the names Fíli and Kíli had chosen for their godchildren were unique and admired. Not that Peridot or Jade cared in any way. Instead they preferred to suck on their new pendants and when several hobbits looked at the dwarrows with worry, they eased them and promised that no more harm would come to the fauntlings from these stones than from eating a chamomile from their garden.

 

The women in particular marvelled at Jade’s pendant and Fíli explained proudly – Kíli was red to the tips of his ears and incoherent because of the amount of praise he was given – that his little brother had always been exceptionally good at bending stones to his will. This particular stone had given him a lot of trouble, since despite his marvellous, deep colour, there had been impurities deep within it. Gifting an impure stone was completely out of the question for a dwarf. So Kíli had needed countless hours to coax this form out of it, rasping away the imperfections to hone the pendant his baby girl was currently wearing.

Years ago Fíli had once asked his brother how he did it. How Kíli was able to carve the most beautiful things from stone, things that nobody else was able to craft. The younger brother had merely shrugged. “It is already there,” he had said. “All I have to do is get rid of the excess.”

The ‘rock names’, as they were called, drew a lot of attention because they were very rare in the Shire and had, until now, only been used for girls. So Fíli and Kíli were met with a lot of approval for finding them. The party stretched far into the early morning hours and the stone cutter – who usually only cared for building blocks and carved trinkets solely in his free time – had invited the youngest dwarf into his workshop to chat a little the next afternoon.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

So everything went back to normal until, in the last week of April, several ravens landed in Bilbo’s back yard. Surprised to see half a dozen black birds, the hobbit feared for sunflowers, so he dashed out to keep an eye on them. But instead of messing up his flowerbeds, they were all sitting on the backrest of his garden bench, perfectly aligned, looking at him in anticipation. Being familiar with more or less all ravens of the Blue Mountains, Bilbo was not surprised to recognize at least four of them, while the fifth seemed to be a quite young bird and the sixth was the daughter of the local Raven Master, whom he had sent to the Blue Mountains a week ago.

Gesturing with his index finger, “You stay away from my beds,” Bilbo stepped back into the smial and gathered a few treats for them. Spreading them out on the table, he opened his arms. The first bird obediently hopped onto the table, allowing the hobbit to untie an uncharacteristically heavy messenger tube from his legs. Once released, the bird approached the treats and settled on a cookie.

Repeating the process, Bilbo soon had half a dozen birds swarming his garden table. Bilbo retreated into his study to open the tubes. There were folded sheets with instructions and drawings, all neatly numbered, ready to be sorted, letters that were addressed to all the members of the Longleaf clan as well as the current manager of Gentian’s pottery, and finally a letter addressed to Bilbo. Honestly it wasn’t even a letter, more like a folded note, and when Bilbo opened it, it only held two words:

 

Thank you

 

Smiling at the treasure he had been given, Bilbo decided to deliver these messages immediately. He didn’t worry about the ravens. He had satisfied their appetite and they were so thoroughly spoiled – mostly by him – that they would wait what else Bilbo would offer as payment for their services, instead of picking his seeds. And Bilbo promised to himself that he would get a huge sack of entrails from the marketplace just to reward them and make them wait if Gentian’s family wanted to answer the messages.

 

The Longleaf family and the workers at the pottery were completely overwhelmed by the letters they received. Most of them opened theirs immediately, even though that could be considered quite rude when entertaining a guest. Bilbo didn’t know what the hobbit in the Blue Mountains had written. He hadn’t been able to make much sense of the pages he had sorted and delivered to Gentian’s oldest nephew who would one day inherit the pottery. But apparently it was good. It had to be very good, because tears of joy were falling from the eyes of many family members when they read them.

Three times Bilbo was hugged fiercely, and many more times he was thanked profusely for his help. Unaware of having done more than write and deliver a plea for help on their behalf, Bilbo felt quite uneasy when showered with so much gratitude. So he deflected it. Instead he assured the Longleafs that they could answer the letters if they made it short and quick and Bilbo would see that Gentian would receive them as soon as possible.

Within the next two days Bilbo got a delivery of no less than seven messages. After three more days the letters had added up to an impressive amount of twenty. Bilbo was a little worried that the ravens would not be able to carry that much, but folding them together, trying to squeeze them into the messenger tubes, he found them to be written on quite thin paper so that they fitted easily. Content to have established a line of communication between the Shire and the Blue Mountains, Bilbo treated the ravens one last time and sent them on their way.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

When the ravens appeared the next time, Bifur and Bofur asked if they could include a message as well. Of course Bilbo saw no problem with that, but was quite surprised when the little Miss Violet came to Bag End in the afternoon, presenting a beautifully framed recipe, with dried flowers glued to it, bordered by a sturdy frame.

The hobbit was heartbroken to tell the little girl that despite the picture being the most beautiful courting gift he had ever seen, the frame could not be carried to the Blue Mountains. Together they came up with another recipe and wrote it on a small sheet of paper. Violet took the entire afternoon to paint flowers and vines all around the main text and was quite satisfied with the substitute when Bilbo sent it on his way. They had decided that she would give the ‘main present’ to Bifur and Bombur to carry it to the Mountain when they departed.

Seeing Violet’s mother on the marketplace the next day, Bilbo took the opportunity to talk about her girl’s infatuation with Bombur. Worried that her daughter might have imposed, the lady-hobbit asked Bilbo about Bombur’s ties to family and friends, but when Bilbo told her that his huge friend was unconnected because he had lost his family during the attack of Erebor, she seemed content. There really was no need to keep Violet from her pining for the dwarf in her mother’s mind.

He was nice, well situated in the Mountain and a kind soul. Violet’s mother explained that the little girl could not have come up with a better candidate for the first person her daughter swooned over. Everybody knew that nothing ever came of the first crushes, so they separated with Bilbo inviting them over for lunch the next day, promising stories from the Blue Mountains.

 

The hobbit was quite amazed to find the ravens carrying a message from Bombur the next time they arrived. Dutifully he delivered and promptly received another letter for his red-haired friend the next afternoon.

 

All in all the ‘raven post’, as the Shirelings called it, worked quite well for all parties concerned. When Bilbo visited the pottery, about a month after his arrival, the spirit of the family seemed lifted. Once again, new dishes with new patters were displayed in the shop. When he asked about the uncharacteristically angular decorations that adorned the rim of a wide bowl, he was told that Gentian had provided the design and that his sister had liked it so much that she had painted it on her last workpiece. So everything was in order and happy for being able to help, Bilbo returned home.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

Bilbo and Thorin had agreed with Thráin to stay in the Shire for about four months. When the first eight weeks of their stay were behind them, Bilbo started to make preparations for their journey back to the Blue Mountains. No matter how much he loved his home, he knew that the farmers of the Blue Mountains would be grateful for his helping hand during the harvest.

Bilbo had asked to hire a wagon from the local carriage station. He knew his rooms in the Blue Mountains were already fully furnished, but if he gave back a few of Dís’s things, he could make room for a few bits and pieces he wanted to save from Bag End. However, trying to decide what to take and what to leave behind, he realized that there were so many things he wanted to save form Lobelia’s clutches. To take everything he wished to, he would need several carriages, and in the end it all would only crowd his living quarters in the mountains. Really, Bilbo needed to make a sensible choice here.

So why was it so damned difficult?

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 


	45. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Secrets are revealed and not all of them are good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What you have all been waiting for: Thorin finds out about Bag End! Drama ensured.

As the days got longer and warmer, Bilbo got sadder and sadder. Everybody noticed but nobody could get the hobbit to share his troubles, not even Thorin.

It reminded the dwarf of the time his husband has distanced himself due to his loss of weight, when he thought himself ugly. At least now he was sure that Bilbo didn’t pull back because of a mistake any of them had made. There was just something weighing on the hobbit’s mind. Yet no matter how much Thorin tried to coax the problem out of him, Bilbo only kissed him and saw to his duties, revealing nothing.

In the end Fíli and Kíli were the ones who discovered the reason behind Bilbo’s sorrow.

Falco was working on a huge wardrobe – too huge to fit into his workshop – and when it had started to drizzle they had been forced to cover the unoiled wood to protect it from the rain. Since it was Saturday and everybody longed for a tranquil evening, Falco had sent them home. Peridot and Jade were with Falco’s parents so he and Amanda had the evening to themselves. Not wanting to think what was about to happen, Fíli and Kíli had practically fled the scene.

Upon their return to Bag End, they had found Bilbo tenderly caressing the flower-engravings on the cabinet in his dining room that held his good tableware. He didn’t react to them when they greeted him, so they approached him cautiously, seeing tears splatting on the wood.

Biting back a sob, Kíli hugged him from behind, whispering concernedly, “Bilbo, what is wrong? Please, please tell us what is bothering you so much. We want to help!”

Unable to hold the sadness of leaving all these memories behind in any longer, Bilbo turned in the young dwarf’s arms and clutched on to him, shivering in distress. For several moments they simply stood there. Fíli had hugged Bilbo from behind, so that the hobbit was sandwiched between the two.

It took him a while to calm himself before he admitted brokenly, “It’s just … that it is so hard to leave this all behind. But there really is no room in the Mountain. I know that. But the thought of her in here, pawing all the things my parents had chosen so painstakingly, only for each other, is unbearable. It hurts more than to lose Bag End.”

Bilbo was not even aware that he was babbling that nobody could make sense of his words since he hadn’t told anybody that he had sold off Bag End. His grandparents and the Sackville-Bagginses were the only ones who knew about the contract. That’s why his grandparents had brought his armchairs as a wedding present. But now …

He had thought seeing all this one last time, having ample time to say good-bye, would make it easier to let go. But he had been wrong. It was harder, so much harder than before. The need to protect his parent’s memories grew with each passing day.

He did not see Fíli and Kíli communicating silently over his head. Kíli looking at his brother pleadingly, Fíli creasing his forehead, deep in thought, but finally deflating, nodding his agreement. Kíli relaxed noticeably when he finally got the permission to reveal their ‘project’ to Bilbo.

Therefore Bilbo was a little confused when Fíli stepped back, allowing Kíli to manoeuvre Bilbo to the sofa in the living room. Both dwarrows kneeled before him, taking his hands into theirs, rubbing them to warm them up again. For the last few days Bilbo had always been cold, despite the temperature.

Fíli spoke quietly, as to not upset the hobbit again. “Bilbo, there … there is something we have to tell you.”

Trying a smile, Bilbo asked, “What did you break this time?”

“We don’t always break things!” Kíli piped up, irritated on their behalf. But Fíli just put a hand on his brother’s arm, effectively silencing him.

“No Bilbo, we didn’t break anything. On the contrary, we built something.”

“Built something? Here, in the Shire?”

“No, in the Blue Mountains. Do you remember the rooms over your apartment? The ones, where all the noise came from?”

When Bilbo nods confused, Fíli explained: “Actually they are no storage rooms as uncle suspected, they are …”

But Kíli interrupted his brother’s cautious explanation, too excited to hold back any longer: “They are a smial. Well they are about to be. There is a mountain terrace outside. It is even bigger than your garden, and we will make you a wall along the edge so that nobody tumbles down. And Ori has pictures of Bag End and is overseeing the renovations right now. Grandfather provided a budget and a lot of dwarrows help in their free time. When we return, the floor and the woodwork will be done. It will just need a paint job because your walls are white here, and maybe the pipes will take a little longer but …”

Then Bilbo hiccupped. For a moment, both Fíli and Kíli look at each other in worry. Could hobbits go into shock? Why wasn’t Bilbo moving? Why didn’t he say anything? He was still breathing, wasn’t he?

Bilbo seems frozen in place, looking at the young princes in disbelief as their words finally sank in. They were building a smial for him, and not only they but a whole bunch of dwarrows. They were making him rooms, hobbit-sized rooms in the Blue Mountains. There would be a garden. They were making him a home, just like his father had done for his mother. Fíli and Kíli and Ori and surely Dori would help as well, and some other dwarrows he might not even be able to think of were lending a hand. And the king had provided a budget, had approved of it all.

Shooting up from his chair, he wanted to go and tell Thorin. He wanted to share this with everybody he cared about. They would know how much this meant for Bilbo. A huge grin lit up the face of the hobbit and Fíli and Kíli exhale in relieve.

Shaking his head, now shivering from excitement, Bilbo looked at the dwarrows and then tackled Fíli and Kíli to the floor. He laughed out loud, simply unable to keep the overwhelming joy bottled up inside. They rolled over a carpet he would have a place for, bumped against a table he could take with him, and were stopped by a sofa he could keep. Tears of happiness blurred his vision, but he simply didn’t want to let go of the two dwarrows who had just promised so much happiness to him.

When he finally composes himself he hugs his boys fiercely once again. “Now it won’t be so hard to give up Bag End at the end of the summer. Thank you so much, you don’t know how much this means to me.”

Yet before the princes could say anything the door to the smial burst open, bounced of the wall, allowing a thunderous Thorin pounding into Bag End. His face was distorted with fury when he pointed his finger at Bilbo. “WE NEED TO TALK!”

Fíli and Kíli sat up, flinching away from their uncle. Bilbo could understand their unease. Never before had he seen his husband that angry. But Thorin would never hurt him, Bilbo was sure of that. So he kissed the both of them on the head, before rising from the floor, directing his furious spouse into the library.

Even before the door was properly closed Thorin shouted furiously, “TELL ME WHY LOBELIA SACKVILLE-BAGGINS FEELS THE NEED TO REMIND ME NOT TO DAMAGE ANYTHING AROUND HERE, SINCE BAG END WILL BE HERS AT THE END OF THE SUMMER!?”

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

Today was not a good day for Thorin. Bilbo had woken him twice this night, rousing him from a nightmare. He knew that something was bothering his husband, but had yet to find a way to make him share his concern.

Where his dreams usually filled with fire and death from the battles of his past, tonight he had wandered endless fields of grey, finding his brother, Dís husband even their grandfather. He had been so happy to see them again, but before he could reach them they drifted away. He had felt his heart breaking all over again, unable to stop the tears when Bilbo’s gentle hands had woken him.

The second time the scene had repeated itself, only this time he had walked a beautiful meadow, sunlight and the smell of flowers had saturated the air. Bilbo had been in the middle of it, preparing a picnic, weaving a flower crown, laughing at somebody. But just like before, when the dwarf had tried to approach his husband, Bilbo had drifted away. First the meadow had stretched endlessly between them. Then, when Thorin had finally found his voice and had tried to call him, his hobbit had just turned his head, eyes awfully sad, shaking his head before vanishing.

When Bilbo had woken him that time, the prince had not been able to share his nightmare. He had merely wrapped himself around Bilbo, hiding his face in his husband’s nightshirt, inhaling his unique fragrance of lavender, sunshine and the earth of the Shire that was so prominent again, ever since they had returned here. Something would happen, something terrible, he was sure of it.

And all Thorin could think of, was that he could live through anything, anything Mahal had in store for him, if he was only allowed to keep his husband. Losing Bilbo like he had lost Frerin, like he had lost his grandfather, would be his last straw, the one thing he could not recover from.

 

At the forge things had not gone any better. He had been careful to keep out of the sun but had felt unbearably hot all day. He had broken a knife he was supposed to sharpen, obliged to forge a new one free of commission. In the afternoon Lobelia had been the one to pick it up.

As before, Thorin had shown himself polite, even subservient when interacting with the lady-hobbit. He hadn’t wanted to give Bilbo’s family any reason to badmouth him. After the disaster at the beginning of the summer, when the hobbits of the Shire had downright accused him of spousal abuse, he was on his best behaviour and had regained their sympathy. The fact that Bilbo had defended him fiercely on more than one occasion had definitely helped.

Then this dreadful woman had started to talk about her plans for her new home. About the changes she would make and the advantages such a big smial had. It had taken Thorin the better part of an hour to realize what smial she was talking about, because honestly, he had tried his very best to drown out her words with the noise of his hammer. But when she had finally taken her new knife, paying him only for the sharpening of it, she had reminded him not to break anything in Bag End since it would be hers soon. Thorin had looked after her flabbergasted, even when she had long been out of sight.

His grandmother-in-law had been the one to rouse him from his stupor. Thorin had not heard a single thing she had said, instead interrupted her rudely by asking, “Bag End will go to the Sackville-Bagginses at the end of the summer?” Once again Adamanta offered an explanation, but Thorin was too much beside himself to understand. The only thing he realized was her confirming nod.

Disbelieving and without even saying good-bye, he had stormed off towards Bag End to confront his husband. He didn’t see Adamanta’s worried looks that followed him, nor heard her order two hobbits to go to the forge, bank the fire, clean the tools and close the doors.

 

Thorin couldn’t even think clearly. All he thought about was Bilbo losing his home. He couldn’t even remotely fathom the reason behind it, but all at once he was able to understand the sadness that had weighed his husband down for the last days.

Why had Bilbo not told him about it? Had they not promised to be honest with each other? How could he have kept something so important from Thorin? And why, by Mahal, was he giving up his home? That was NOT what the two of them had agreed upon. So Thorin was beyond furious when he pounded into Bag End to confront his husband.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

Highly irritated at his husband’s behaviour, Bilbo quietly closed the door and turned towards him. He had been so happy just a moment ago, and now Thorin stood before him, overshadowing the room like one of the wrathful gods of old, behaving like he had been wronged in some way. Well, Bilbo would have none of that!

Stepping to his husband, poking at his chest with his index finger, Bilbo hissed angrily, “First of all you will lower your voice to an indoor level. Why this seems to be so hard for your family is beyond me.

“Second, you will lose this angry tone _this instant_!

“And third, this is my smial to do with as I please! You have no right to be angry about that!”

 

Looking down at his husband seething, Thorin growled, “Your dear cousin was mocking me in my own forge. She was boasting about getting her hands on a smial she had wanted for years. How could you have given it to her? We were engaged last year. If you had needed money that desperately, you should have come to me. You knew I was a prince half way through the summer. Or is my money not good enough for a respectable hobbit like you?”

Sneering, Bilbo gestured into the vague direction of his cousin’s smial, “As if this was about money. Do you really think that I would bother about something as mundane as that?”

“Then pray, dear husband, explain what this is all about,” Thorin mocked. “Please enlighten me. Clearly I am too simpleminded to come up with a valid reason for you to sell the home your father had built for your mother!”

 

At that Bilbo’s anger turned into cold fury. How dare his husband mock him in his own home? How dare Thorin belittle him after everything he had done? “This smial, _dear husband,_ was the price for the winter rye. A trade that will ensure the survival of our people this winter.”

Looking at Bilbo like the hobbit had just pulled of the rug from beneath him, Thorin swayed. “You offered Bag End for the winter rye? Why?”

Laughing without humour, the hobbit deadpanned, “Because my cousin wouldn’t settle for anything less. He was not willing to sell his rye, a rye that was the most promising solution to your manuring problem. If you really think that I would give up Bag End for anything less than the lives of our people, you really don’t know me at all!”

 

“I will make this right!” Thorin’s hands balled into fists as he swept past his husband, leaving the library. “I will talk to the Old Took, to Otho. I will not allow you to lose your home!” He would make this right, he had to. Thorin swore to himself, to Mahal, his dead mother that he would. The thought of Bilbo giving up his own home to ensure that his people had one was too much. He had lost everything to a dragon. He would not allow the same to happen to Bilbo. Not if he had any breath left.

 

“Thorin, stop!”

He was nearly out of the door when the dictatorial voice of his husband echoed through the halls of Bag End. Thorin knew that voice, Bilbo usually reserved it for dealing with unruly dwarflings or stubborn councillors. Not once before had it been directed at him. Aware that Bilbo was talking business, the dwarf turned around, aware but ignoring his nephews who were still sitting on the floor of the living room, looking scared.

 

Slowly, dangerously, Bilbo approached his husband. Lowly the hobbit informed him, “You will do no such thing! You will neither approach my grandfather, nor Otho or Lobelia. This was my decision and you, as my husband, will respect that and not humiliate me in front of my family by contradicting it publicly!”

Folding his arms over his broad chest defensively, Thorin looked down at Bilbo. He was a prince of the line of Durin he would be able to hold his ground in this conversation. “Or what?” He had been raised to rule his people. No hobbit, not even his husband, would impose his will on him.

Bilbo looked up at his husband with cold determination. “Or you can leave for the mountains alone this summer, since I don’t long to share my life with someone who doesn’t honour my wishes.”

 

Thorin recoiled as if Bilbo had slapped him. He would not. He could not. Bilbo would not leave him. That was completely out of the question. The mere idea of returning to the Blue Mountains without his husband, the one person he loved more than anyone else in Middle-earth, made panic swell up in Thorin, threatened to drown him.

 

Bilbo could not stay in the Shire. He had no home here. Thorin tried to convince himself.

But he has family, his inner voice reminded him, they will take him in, support him as much as he needs.

But Bilbo had duties to perform. Surely he would return to the Mountain at the end of the season.

Sure, his mind supplied, he will return to the Mountain, but that doesn’t mean he will return to you.

 

Forcing himself to draw a deep breath, Thorin tried to approach Bilbo, to appease him, but the hobbit merely took a step back, keeping his distance from his husband. Defeated, Thorin whispered, “Bilbo, please, I …”

Yet his husband shook his head, resolutely and still angry, pointing towards the open door. “Leave! I really don’t want to see you again today,” before turning around, vanishing into the depths of his smial.

 

When Fíli and Kíli tried to approach him, clearly trying to comfort, he merely shook his head. Remaining in the living-room, Fíli revealed. “The rooms in the Mountain, the above the royal wing … we are making a smial for Bilbo. Ori is supervising the construction work. Many others are helping. There even is terrace outside for a garden. We can make him a home with us. We will talk to him. We …”

But Thorin only shook his head, took his coat from the hook by the door and left. It was good to hear that his nephews were trying to build a home for his hobbit. He should have thought about that himself. But right now all he could think of was Bilbo’s fury, directed at him, his own husband banishing him from his home. After everything he had been through, Bilbo was the only thing he could not afford to lose. So he honoured his wish and left.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

Bilbo was fuming. How could Thorin? How dare he? This was still his home, to do with as he pleased, and Thorin was his husband. He was supposed to support Bilbo, not contradict him or even worse, belittle him!

As always when he was beside himself with anger, Bilbo turned to his flower beds and vegetable patches and started weeding. Angrily he plucked weeds from the soil, piling them up to impressive heights as the day turned into night.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

After taking care of the forge, Adamanta strolled up the hill to her grandson’s smial. She had no desire to barge into a confrontation between husbands. But she was sure that either the hobbit or the dwarf would need a hand when it was over.

She saw Thorin leaving, his coat in hands, and entered without knocking. As expected, Bilbo was nowhere to be seen, but knowing her grandson, Adamanta suspected he would be working in his back garden again, weeding to blow off steam. She was more worried about the anxious dwarflings she found in the living room.

True, they were older than her sons and most of her daughters, but at the moment they were looking at her with the frightened eyes of children who didn’t know what was going on, or how to make it right. Sadly, Adamanta knew, there was no way for them to make this right. This was between Bilbo and Thorin and neither Fíli nor Kíli had any right to intervene.

Pulling the two of them into a comforting embrace, she decided, “You two will come with me. You look as if you could need something hot to fill your bellies, a nice cup of tea and a biscuit perhaps?”

“What … what about Bifur and Bofur?”

Patting Kíli’s arm comfortingly, she offered, “We can pick them up from the toymaker’s shop. They shouldn’t be around either. Not until Bilbo calms down.”

 

So the two dwarrows picked up their friends and together they went to Old Took’s home. Gerontius welcomed them with open arms, Bifur was given Isengar for entertaining and Bofur was shown a vast collection of pipes, some of which were broken and needed mending.

Fíli and Kíli were ushered into the kitchen where they helped Adamanta to prepare dinner for seven people.

When they returned to Bag End that night, everything was dark and with a sad sigh they went to bed.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

Thorin had walked aimlessly though Hobbiton. The longer he walked, the more distance he brought between himself and the village. When he finally sank into the grass, a tall boulder at his back, he realized that he had walked the distance to the part of the river where he and Bilbo had first made love. At this very moment this event seemed a lifetime away and despite wrapping himself into his coat, Thorin felt chilled to the bone.

For hours he sat there, starring at the green grass that had once been covered by a huge plaid. Bilbo and he had eaten and laughed at this very spot. They had made love for the first time and slept peacefully afterwards. When the moon was high in the sky, Thorin rose, stiff and hurt all over, slowly making his way back to Bag End.

He had thought that he could spent the night somewhere, with friends, maybe even members of the family he had married into. But now the only place he wanted, needed to go, was home. Bilbo’s home, at least for as long as it belonged to his hobbit.

He did not dare to enter, did not allow himself to try the door out of fear it might be bolted. The thought that Bilbo might have locked him out of his home was awful to Thorin. So he circled the smial, entered the back garden, finally finding himself under Bilbo’s bedroom window. As it was to his hobbit’s liking, it was slightly ajar, letting in the refreshing air of the night and the sweet fragrances of the flowers and herbs of the garden.

Listening for a few moments, Thorin whispered, “Bilbo, are you awake?” When no one answered, he wrapped himself into his coat again, sliding down the small wall beneath Bilbo’s window, closing his eyes.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 


	46. An Apology in Khuzdul

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alright! Baccadoro you did it! Hope you are happy now.  
> It appears that I am physically unable to leave you all waiting for five days with such a cliffhanger ending. You will WAIT for the next chapter!!! Just so you know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please remember: direct speech is meant to be Khuzdul that is bracketed between >

Of course Bilbo was there. This was his bedroom for Yavanna’s sake! A bedroom the walls of which he had been staring at, for the last two hours.

When the sun had finally disappeared behind the horizon, his garden had become too dark for Bilbo to distinguish between herbs and weeds. He had ignited a lamp to rake up the weeds he had pulled from the earth, throwing them on a muckheap in the corner of his garden. He would deal with them later, tomorrow maybe or the day after.

When he entered his smial he went straight to the bathroom, drawing himself a bath to soothe the muscles he had abused for the last few hours. He hadn’t gotten sore muscles any longer in the Blue Mountains, his body had adapted to the strains of training; but weeding was another matter entirely and his body didn’t forgive these movements as easily.

When the water got cold, Bilbo left the tub and wrapped himself in his father’s old dressing gown. It was a little frayed at the edges but since his own dressing gown was in the Blue Mountains, it would have to do. Only when he was in the kitchen did he realize that he had neglected his dwarrows. But since they were nowhere to be found, Bilbo decided that they most likely had had dinner elsewhere.

The truth was, he really didn’t want to think about any of them at the moment. Pondering about Bifur and Bofur’s whereabouts would make him worry about Fíli and Kíli and from them Thorin would only be one thought away. Hitting a piece of meat he was about to fry particularly hard, Bilbo sighed and rested his head tiredly against the cupboard. Why had everything have to be so complicated?

Why couldn’t Thorin trust him that he had made the right, the only, decision for himself on behalf of their people?

Bilbo was aware that he had not felt any kind of bond with the dwarrows of the Blue Mountains at the time he had signed the contract, but now that he had come to care about them there was no doubt left that he had done the right thing. Nothing, not even his childhood home was worth the life of all these people.

How could Thorin not see this?

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

After having eaten his dinner, well half-heartedly poking at his meat until he had forced himself to consume it, not really tasting anything, Bilbo retreated to bed. He heard his other houseguests return. Heard Bifur ask if he should lock up, deciding to do it since the back door would still be open. Heard them go through their evening routines before retreating to their respective bedrooms. Bilbo counted to one hundred after the last sound had vanished into the night and rose again, unlocking the front door before returning to bed.

This was his smial and in the Shire hobbits didn’t lock their doors. They trusted their friends, their families, even their husbands not to enter when they were not welcome, and if they did enter, to find a sleeping place for themselves without disturbing anyone.

Closing his eyes, willing sleep to come, Bilbo opened them again sometime later. Where would Thorin go when banished from Bag End? Would he approach his grandparents? One of his uncles, maybe? He had had a particularly good time with uncle Isembold at the beginning of the summer and Bilbo knew from town’s gossip that his uncle had the forge at several occasions, talking with Thorin about his fondness of artful silverware.

Still, despite his initial worries, when he heard commotion in his back garden, followed by his husband’s hushed whisper, he refused to answer.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

After a very long time, where sleep simply wouldn’t come, Thorin looked up again, gazed at the bedazzling night sky, which was littered with myriads of stars. Thorin had never seen so many stars anywhere else in Middle-earth. It was as if the gods looked particularly fondly down at the smallest race of this world.

Brokenly he started to whisper, falling back to the language of his people – if Bilbo was asleep, it didn’t matter how he voiced what was burdening him. He would have to repeat it in the morning anyway, apologize to his husband, assuring him that he would respect his wishes, no matter how much they pained him.

_> I’m sorry, you know. But I guess you don’t want to hear that right now, otherwise you wouldn’t have thrown me out. I am sure you are still furious and it serves me right. I should have respected your wishes, should not have forced you to fall back on such an empty threat, just to make me listen.<_

Taking a fortifying breath, Thorin exhaled tiredly, turning towards the house as if he could get closer to his hobbit that way. _> It was empty, wasn’t it Bilbo? You WILL return to the Blue Mountains come July, won’t you? There are so many people there who care for you. Not because you are the royal consort but because they love you for who you are._

_> They need you Bilbo. I need you!_

_> My life was so … it wasn’t even a real life before I met you, only a performance of duties by the royal heir. After losing Erebor, after the battle at the gates of Moria, all I thought about was my people. I worked so hard to give them a future, a new home. I tried to be everything they needed me to be, but lost myself along the way._

_> You helped me rediscover who I am. You cared about what I liked to eat, what colour I favoured. Things I had long forgotten and remembered together with you. I wish there were words in your language to tell you how much you mean to me. You are so much more to me than a lover, so much more than a husband. You are everything and the thought that you have less than your heart desires is unbearable.<_

Snickering slightly, Thorin trailed his fingers though his hair, pulling the strands, stopping when he remembered that Bilbo didn’t like him doing this. _> See, you even have me adopt your words, no matter how much they scared me in the beginning. ‘Serve and Obey’. I would have sworn just that, Bilbo, no more, no less, without explanation. I would rather spend my life serving you than ruling a kingdom without you._

_> I wish so very much that I could give you everything your heart desires, that I could give you the Shire, and a new family so that you are not alone anymore. That I could make you happy and relieve you of the burdens you carry on my behalf. But I can’t. I can’t give you any of that and the idea that you will lose even more because of me, because of my people, is more than I can take. I wish I could make you see that._

_> I’m sorry Bilbo. So sorry for the things I have said and done to hurt you. That had never been my intention and I promise to yield to your wishes, without opposition. But after everything I have been though, after seeing Smaug taking my home, don’t expect me to be happy that you will give up yours. Creating a new home for our people in the Blue Mountains should not come at the cost of Bag End.<_

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

Bilbo had very little trouble comprehending his husband’s whispered words. In the Blue Mountains there was always this constant level of background noise, too many duties to perform, too many responsibilities to make ample time for his language studies. Here, in the quiet of his home, his studies of the dwarven language had made a huge leap. He didn’t even have trouble understanding Bifur any longer when the dwarf read about the battles of old from a book he carried. Twice a week it was a huge event in the town’s marketplace with Bifur reading and Bofur translating and the children re-enacting the fights.

Bilbo enjoyed these events tremendously, always sitting at Bifur’s side, listening and watching closely, but ever vigilant not to give any indication that he understood. Well, at least not if there were others around. When it was only Bifur and him … well, the dwarf seemingly didn’t notice that his questions were answered even when the hobbit shouldn’t be able to understand him.

So now, the hushed tone of his husband was more of a challenge than the words themselves. Halfway through Thorin’s explanation Bilbo left his bed and sat down beneath the window, mirroring the position his husband had taken outside.

He had to cover his mouth with both of his hands so that his harsh breaths would not carry to Thorin. His husband’s words were breaking his heart. Why had he shouted at him? Why had he not waited for this explanation?

Because he had been angry, furious to be contradicted in the last decision he had made for himself, as sole owner of Bag End. His parents would have approved of what he had done last summer, but probably not of what he had done today.

His mother would have understood his harsh reaction; his father would have shaken his head in mild irritation. Neither of them had taken him seriously when his Tookish side had reared its head. But Thorin didn’t know how to evaluate Bilbo’s words when he was in the throes of a Tookish temper tantrum. No matter what his grandfather had prepared him for, Thorin had believed him when he had threatened to stay behind.

Bilbo knew that it had not been an empty threat at that time. But he would never have seen it though once their journey was imminent. He might be willing to do many things to punish his husband for inappropriate behaviour, but abandoning his responsibilities in the Blue Mountains was not one of them.

Still it would not only have been for his duties to these dwarrows. The Blue Mountains had become his new home after all. It might not be a smial, not a hole in the earth, but maybe there was a hole in the stone in his immediate future. And if Fíli and Kíli were exaggerating when they talked about the size of the mountain terrace, it didn’t matter. Even a small garden would make him happy. The raven valley would have made him happy as a substitute garden and despite Dís’s rooms being too grand for him, Bilbo would have adapted, learning to be happy with what he had.

Only now did he comprehend that Thorin didn’t want him to adapt. That his husband cared so very much for him that he wanted to lay the world at his feet. That after having his own home taken from him, the thought of Bilbo trading his own on their behalf was too great a sacrifice in his eyes. His father too would have captured the sun, the moon and the stars for his mother, if Belladonna had given as much as inkling that she desired them. But his mother had never asked for the impossible, instead she had coaxed her husband out of their comfortable home and onto the road and what amazing adventures they had experienced together.

 

It took the hobbit long moments to get a hold on his emotions again. He was still angry that his husband had dismissed his decision so easily, but now he could understand why. They could work on a solution with such a common ground. Bilbo didn’t want for Thorin to get him back his home he wanted them to build a new one, together. And from what he had heard, that was a very real possibility. They would make a new home that was not inherited from somebody else, but something that belonged only to the two of them.

Rising silently, Bilbo peeked out of his window, finding his husband asleep on the other side of the wall. Thorin was wrapped in his coat so he would be mostly warm though the night. So Bilbo returned to his bed, closing his eyes again. But after a while he rose again, reaching for a pillow, wrapping it into an old blanket before pulling an old quilt from the depths of his wardrobe.

Without a sound he left the smial and approached his husband. Putting the protected pillow on the flowerbed next to him, coaxing his dwarf onto it, Bilbo flinched a little when Thorin took his hand, brushing a kiss over his wrist. Sleepily he mumbled, _> You will listen to me tomorrow. We will make this right, won’t we?<_ But before Bilbo could offer a comment, Thorin’s breath evened out again, telling the hobbit that his husband was sound asleep.

Covering the huddled form with the plaid, making sure that Thorin would not be woken in the morning by the dew pulling the warmth from him, Bilbo gently kissed his husband’s forehead, daring to whisper in the sacred language, _> We make it right. Promise.<_ before returning to his bedroom, finally letting sleep claim him.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

When Thorin woke the next morning, he became instantly aware of the pillow someone had placed under his head and the plaid he was wrapped into for warmth. It had taken a while of talking to his sleeping husband to be finally able to fall asleep. The night had begun with a pleasant dream of his hobbit who had assured him that they would figure this out. Thorin didn’t care much about anything beyond that.

Now he was not so sure any more if it really had been a dream. The pillow and plaid had not appeared out of thin air. True, it could have been his nephews or even Bifur or Bofur giving them to him, but Bilbo was more likely. He wanted to believe that his husband had cared about his wellbeing, despite being angry. As long as that was the case, as long as Bilbo still cared, his hobbit would forgive Thorin, as long as he offered a sincere apology.

Clinging to that hope, Thorin rose, gathered his things and entered the smial though the back-door.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

Bilbo was currently scrambling eggs, then pulling a fresh tray of scones out of the oven before turning several thick slices of bacon in his frying pan. Thorin liked scones and eggs with bacon for breakfast, and after most likely not having had any dinner the night before, his husband deserved to be fed well, no matter how angry Bilbo had been with him. Starvation would never be a punishment with a hobbit.

Bilbo’s anger had dissipated overnight. So when Thorin entered the kitchen, the hobbit was preparing a generous breakfast for his husband. Working at the forge was a demanding job after all.

Bilbo was surprised when Thorin appeared wordlessly, lingered at the door before entering, apparently tentative to come closer. His voice sounded frightened and a little broken, as if he was not sure if he was allowed in Bilbo’s vicinity again, when he whispered, “I am sorry, Bilbo, so very sorry. I did … I couldn’t …”

Blowing out a frustrated breath, the hobbit decided to make this a little easier on his husband, stepping back so that his spine met Thorin’s chest.

He felt the powerful shiver running over his husband’s frame, before Thorin wrapped his arms around him and lowered his forehead against Bilbo’s curls. Drawing strength by inhaling his husband’s unique fragrance, something that always managed to calm him down, Thorin tried again. “The thought that you will have to lose your home to save us is unbearable to me. This should not be a trade: a plentiful home for my … for our people, or for you.”

When Bilbo opened his mouth to protest, Thorin hesitantly kissed his head, keeping him from interrupting. “But I do realize that it is your choice and that I had no right to defy you. You are my husband and before my king I swore to support you in every way. You surely have done your best to assist me, even with the dreadful reports about the fields last fall. You have every right to expect the same from me and I am so sorry that I didn’t live up to your expectations. Instead I failed you the first time I could have shown myself supportive of a decision you made for yourself.”

Inhaling deeply, Thorin begged sincerely, “Please, Bilbo, forgive me.”

“Oh Thorin,” Bilbo whispered, shaking his head. How could his husband care for him so very much and get him so very wrong at the same time. For example right now, for the fraction of a heartbeat Thorin clung onto him, before letting his hands fall from Bilbo in defeat. But the hobbit had no intention of letting him go. Quick-witted, he pulled the frying pan from the stove, before turning around, reaching for his husband, pulling him into a strong embrace.

At first Thorin stilled, confused, gauging Bilbo’s actions, but as soon as he felt his husband’s arms enveloping him, he sank into them, returning the hug with all the strength that was left in him. He was shaking again, overcome with emotions and only Bilbo’s soothing words in his ear were able to ground him. Both spouses took their time, holding onto each other before Bilbo finally let go, cupping his husband’s cheeks, while explaining.

“This is not about trading homes. It’s about providing for my new family. I would have had to give up Bag End eventually. It is a splendid smial, a place that should be lived in, not abandoned three quarters of the year. People should be happy here, that’s what my parents would have wanted. I have a home in the Blue Mountains, will maybe even have a smial if Fíli and Kíli are to be believed. But that doesn’t matter.

“I decided that this is the right thing to do, Thorin. We, our wedding, it was appropriate. And no matter what I say or how I react, I have not doubted this decision for a single heartbeat ever since making it.

“My father did the same thing when he courted my mother. He took everything he had and put it into this smial. There were no plans to fall back on, no alternatives, no second choices. Bag End became everything he had and he laid it at my mother’s feet to decide if it was worthy of her.

“When I decided to marry you I knew that I would have to do the same. There was no choice between the Blue Mountains and the Shire. I would have followed you wherever you went. That I get the chance to visit is great, and I am really grateful for it, but I would have done without it.

“It’s true that coming here makes me happy because I love this place, love seeing my family and friends, but if there ever was a choice between the Shire and you, I would always choose you, Thorin. Never doubt that. The fact that I got the winter rye in exchange for Bag End was a blessing since now the last doubt should be erased from your mind that you are what I want, no alternatives, no second choices.”

 

Thorin wouldn’t, couldn’t look into Bilbo’s eyes once his husband had finished. There was too much, too much happiness, too many overwhelming emotions to rein in his feelings any longer. He shivered so hard that the hugging pair nearly tumbled to the floor, and when Bilbo guided him to the bench in the kitchen with gentle nudges, he followed willingly, never letting go of his husband.

He couldn’t open his arms, not in this very moment, and Bilbo seemed to understand. So once Thorin had sat down on the bench, he climbed into his husbands lap, allowing Thorin to bury his face in the crook of Bilbo’s neck, breathing wetly against his skin. It was embarrassing really, but the hobbit didn’t seem to mind. He also didn’t seem to see any need for meaningless comfort. Thorin was not sad or needed consolation, he was overwhelmed with happiness, more happiness than he had ever felt in his entire life. So the hobbit just clung onto him, nuzzling his hair.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

Fíli and Kíli entered the kitchen around half past seven but when finding their uncles in a tight embrace, they retreated soundlessly. Setting up for first breakfast in the living room, they sneaked into the second pantry where they got some provisions to savour while guarding the kitchen to keep Bifur and Bofur from barging in on the couple.

Bilbo and Thorin needed about an hour to themselves, but when the smell of fried bacon renewed and the scrambling of eggs could be heard – at least Kíli hoped that it were eggs because he loved having them for breakfast – Thorin appeared in the doorway and invited them into the kitchen with a small, tired smile.

Bifur and Bofur entered eagerly, both desperate for a hot cup of tea from Bilbo’s special blend. Fíli and Kíli were held back by Thorin in the doorframe. When they looked at their uncle questioningly, Thorin rumbled in a low voice, “Thank you, thank you for making a new home for Bilbo when he had to give up his own.”

“We didn’t …” Kíli started.

“We didn’t know that Bilbo was about to give up his home.” Fíli explained, “but ever since he came to the mountain he was so … he simply wasn’t the same carefree hobbit we had gotten to know here. He never sang, never laughed just for the joy of it. Sure he enjoyed being with his friends, but he was not content there, no matter how often he told mother that he loved her kitchen and her rooms.”

The blond dwarf sighed deeply before continuing. “We heard about the trade with the Sackville-Bagginses on our first day back here. But Master Falco demanded we keep it a secret. It was Bilbo’s secret after all, so it was not ours to reveal, right?”

No matter how mature Fíli appeared, no matter how responsible his decisions, at times like this he was still nothing more than a young dwarf who needed reassurance, and Thorin gave it too willingly. Hugging his oldest nephew close, pulling in Kíli as well when he saw the longing look in the youngest one’s eyes, he confirmed, “Yes, Fíli, you did the right thing. This is Bilbo’s home and we have to respect his decisions, no matter whether we like them or not. If he wishes to share something with us, we will listen. If he desires to keep things to himself, we will respect that as well.”

“You have made up, haven’t you?”

With a soft smile, Thorin caressed the youngest dwarf’s hair and nodded. “Yes, Kíli. I have apologized and Bilbo has accepted. Everything is alright again. But now let’s go, or Bofur will take all the eggs and Bifur all the bacon Bilbo has prepared.”

Happy that life seemed much brighter now, the Durins went to the kitchen, taking their respective places, smiling at their hobbit who served them a delicious breakfast.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

The very next day, the Durins started to hire carriages and sent letters to the Blue Mountains. If Bilbo was about to lose Bag End in fall, there would be no time for them to return here to save his things from the Sackville-Bagginses. So they tried to take as much as possible with them. Considering the need for the smial in the Mountains to be finished as soon as possible, Fíli and Kíli decided – clearly somewhat reluctantly – that they would depart in the middle of June. That would give them about a month before Thorin and Bilbo would return to the Blue Mountains.

According to Ori’s letters everything went great and when Thorin saw sketches of the floor plan, he started to shift the rooms, arranging them according to what he thought Bilbo would like.

The dwarrows had planned to make the biggest room up front a living room where Bilbo could entertain his guests without having them venture farther into his home. But Thorin suggested a conference slash dining room, so that Bilbo would be able to entertain the dwarrows who wanted to talk to him. Thorin was sure that his hobbit would be much more comfortable dealing with stubborn merchants or demanding librarians between his own walls.

Also the kitchen was nearby. Bilbo surely would like being able to offer tea and treats. Next to the dining room was the living room, just like in Bag End. The kitchen opened to both chambers, allowing Bilbo to entertain his guests while cooking. The huge passages between the kitchen and the joined rooms qualified as a more or less open floor plan. But Fíli and Kíli had thought about sliding doors that could keep unwanted guests out of the hobbit’s sanctuary if he wanted peace and quiet while cooking.

A big outlet to the garden would be covered by a round door, preferably green. From the entrance hall that connected the garden access and living room onward, the floor plan mirrored that of Bag End. The smial would contain the rooms Bilbo had here, they were only bigger and more numerous. Thorin had suggested several rooms for clothes and the biggest one against the outside wall for Bilbo’s books and his writing, wide and airy with additional windows, just like the hobbit preferred it. Thorin was looking forward to purchasing colourful glass windows for this particular room.

Apart from the library, the living room, the kitchen and Bilbo’s bedroom would have windows. The dwarrows had included as many outlets as they had dared, wanting the sun to flood their hobbit’s new home. Worries about the safety of so many windows had been dispelled with the reminder that several hundred feet in the air, an army would have to travel on a dragon’s back to reach them. And if they came with a dragon, the windows wouldn’t matter anyway.

The Durins had kept the plans carefully hidden from their hobbit. But the more they heard about the swift development of the smial, the more eager Fíli and Kíli were to return. It was hard for them to say good-bye to Peridot and Jade but they promised to write at least once a week and visit as soon as possible.

Bifur and Bofur, who were assigned as their guards, would miss the many cheerful hobbits and their fauntlings even more so. But they would protect the young princes and their precious cargo on the way back to the mountain, making sure that the heirs and Bilbo’s furniture would reach the mountain unharmed.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 


	47. Lonely travellers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The journey from the Shire back to the Blue Mountains begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, nine days is pretty tough but you have all waited so patiently. So, for all of your entertainment, this is the beginning of the end.

Four weeks, not a day more had Bilbo and Thorin allowed themselves before they started their journey back to the Blue Mountains.

Just like the summer before, Bilbo was thrilled to start this trip. Not because it was an exciting adventure into the unknown, but because he knew that his family, friends and most likely a new home, were awaiting him. He had needled Fíli and Kíli as well as Thorin for details on the smial, but had learned very little from them. Thorin had revealed nothing.

Fíli and Kíli, on the other hand, had not been opposed to bribery and had shared the floor plan with him. Bilbo had nearly fainted when he realized the dimensions of his hew home. Surely these measurements were exaggerated. But even with a kitchen only 9 feet instead of the documented 18, it would be comfortable for cooking. The hobbit decided to just bide his time and wait to see the rooms with his very own eyes.

The only thing the dwarrows kept hidden from him resolutely, were the measurements of the mountain terrace outside of the smial. But Bilbo really couldn’t care less. A garden was a garden, no matter how small; and the hobbit would cherish every square-foot he would find outside of his door.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

The Tooks – well, at least the Tooks that lived in Hobbiton – and the Bagginses as well, promised to pack up every last piece of furniture and equipment and prepare it for transport to the Blue Mountains. Once Lobelia got an inkling about that plan, she stormed the thain’s office, accusing Bilbo of cheating his way out of the contract he had with her husband.

But the Old Took had been prepared for this argument, so he took his time unrolling his copy of the contract and went over the phrasing. After a few minutes he offered the paper to the enraged lady-hobbit, smiling serenely. “You are right, of course, Lobelia. This contract states that Bag End and all the property around it will go to your husband Otho at the end of harvest season. But despite your claim, there is no mentioning of the furnishings going to you as well. So Bilbo is very well within his rights to remove every last chair and every single spoon. Legally he could also take the kitchen cupboards.”

Patting her hand patronizingly, Gerontius assured her, “But I am sure my grandson will leave you the sink. After all, he will get a new smial in the Blue Mountains, one that is far bigger than Bag End, and his old sink surely wouldn’t fit.”

With a furious cry, Lobelia pulled back her hand and flounced out of the office. As soon as the door was closed, Adamanta came in from the side, bringing lunch, since Gerontius had been working through elevenses that day to organize the delivery of his grandson’s belongings. “That was a little mean, don’t you think, my love?”

Pulling his wife into his arms, kissing her sweetly, the Old Took reminded her, “You would have done worse and we both know it.”

Snuggling into the embrace, Adamanta admitted, “Yes, I would. I understand that Bilbo had to give up Bag End to support his dwarrows, but that does not mean that I have to like the person he is giving it to. Belladonna would turn in her grave if she knew that Lobelia would be the mistress of Bag End.”

“Belladonna would haunt her, enjoying making her life a hell by playing pranks on her.”

“Yes, she would,” his wife whispered, holding onto her husband, taking the comfort she needed to overcome the sadness that filled her whenever she thought of her beloved daughter.

“It will be alright, my love. Bilbo is in good hands, Thorin will make him blissfully happy, once he realizes how much his husband loves him.”

Agreeing, Adamanta finally pulled back to serve her husband. After lunch, she left to pick up Isengar from a play-date with his cousins, allowing the thain to return to his work.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

Travelling in the height of summer was not as pleasant as Thorin and Bilbo would have imagined. Though they had two carriages, filled with small furniture and knick-knacks from Bag End, they were hot and uncomfortable most days. At least until they decided to travel in the morning and in the afternoon, as well as into the night, and rest during midday to escape the worst of the heat.

When the sun was not burning down on them it became quite pleasurable to journey together. Bilbo daydreamed about venturing to Rivendell with is husband, imagining how his dwarf would like the majestic architecture of the elves and how he would pull a face on their preferred dishes.

 

Thorin, on the other hand, really couldn’t wait for them to return to the Blue Mountains to see if Bilbo liked his new home. The dwarf had utter faith in his nephews to have finished the construction work upon their arrival. One half-finished room or another wouldn’t matter as long as Bilbo had a bedroom a kitchen and a living room to be comfortable in. The guest rooms, even the library, could wait as long as there was a place for Bilbo’s beloved bureau somewhere.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

Seven days on the road, Thorin grew a little tired of Bilbo’s rations since they contained mostly beans, potatoes and cereals. They had taken a decent amount of dried and salted meat with them, but the dwarf craved fresh meat to sink his teeth into instead of stew every day. So when a forest came into view, Thorin persuaded Bilbo to interrupt their journey for a day, so that he could hunt to expand their provisions.

As always, when it came to food Bilbo was easily swayed. The farmers had already started the harvest of the winter rye, Bilbo was sure of that, so arriving a few days sooner or later really would not make any difference. The hobbit had made them promise to wait for him with the manuring. He wanted to walk the fields after the harvest, to see for himself that everything was alright. But a few days more or less wouldn’t matter. They were under no time-constraint and Bilbo was happy to broaden his stock.

The first evening, Thorin managed to capture a rabbit within the first hour of his hunt. When he brought it back to Bilbo, they bickered a little about making it into a stew with vegetables and potatoes, but after having eaten too much of these over the last week, Thorin voted for simply roasting the hare. Having anticipated that, Bilbo had already prepared the right seasoning and within half an hour the skinned and seasoned rabbit rotated on a stick over a merrily crackling fire.

 

The next morning Thorin ventured deep into the forest.

The hobbit took his time to wash and repair their travelling clothes. He worried briefly about his husband when the dwarf did not return around midday. Remembering Kíli’s lesson on hunting that it could take in fact a few days, the hobbit calmed down again. Thorin would return in the evening with our without prey. He could always try again tomorrow.

When his dwarf still wasn’t by his side at sundown, the hobbit grew a little anxious. He didn’t know these woods and could not leave the ponies and their carriages behind. All he could do was sit huddled up beside the fire, trying to pierce the darkening forest with his eyes to maybe spot his husband.

When Thorin didn’t return the second day either, Bilbo ventured into the woods in the dying light of day. But the he was no hunter, not skilled in reading trails apart from those of forest animals. As much as he hated to admit it, there really was nothing he could do aside from returning to the camp preparing for immediate departure in the first light of day.

The mountains were already looming in the distance. If he exerted himself and the ponies, maybe he could reach them within two days.

Something horrible must have happened to Thorin if he wasn’t returning. Maybe he had had an accident. Maybe he had fought a wild boar and was injured. Maybe he had gotten lost. Maybe … Maybe … Maybe …

 

Bilbo slept beside the fire, slipping from one nightmare into the next. His mind supplied him with the most horrible pictures of what could have happened to his husband, and though he knew that a band of orcs capturing him was as unlikely as being burned alive by dragon fire, he still couldn’t shake them off. Bilbo was close to tears due to exhaustion and worry the next morning. Still he put on his armour and secured the carts.

He would travel much faster without the ponies dragging them. It would be hard for him to ride without a saddle but he was able to improvise reins from the horse harnesses and when he mounted the first pony it didn’t put up a fight to the unaccustomed weight on his back.

The second followed after a little nudging on his leash and within a few moments, Bilbo had persuaded the ponies to trot towards the mountains as fast as possible. He wanted to gallop over the plain to reach the Mountains within the day, but remembering his riding lessons with Balin, the hobbit was aware that trotting actually was the fastest way to travel.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

It took Bilbo nearly forty hours of constant moving to reach the Blue Mountains. One and a half day in which he allowed the ponies and himself only the briefest breaks. He had not slept for more than three hours the second night and had preferred to travel by foot when he had realized that the animals were too exhausted to carry him.

Dwalin greeted him at the front gate, caught the hobbit when he nearly fell from ponies back. Looking around, the dwarf asked confused, “Bilbo, where is Thorin?”

Clutching his friend’s armour, Bilbo whispered desperately, “I don’t know. By the Green Lady, Dwalin, I really don’t know. You have to help me!” But after that admission he lost consciousness, to worn by the strain he had put himself through for the last two days.

When Dwalin looked up at the railing over the gate, he saw a peak of red hair disappearing into the mountain. Good, Nori had watched. He would gather the others, so that they could get to the bottom of this. Carefully not to jostle his exhausted friend, Dwalin carried Bilbo inside, ordering a guard to take care of the ponies.

Apparently Bilbo’s living room had been chosen for the meeting, because when Dwalin entered to put Bilbo into bed, he already found Dís as well as her sons hovering in the room. All three looked very worried when they laid eyes on Bilbo.

Nori was there as well, lingering in the corner, as were Ori and Dori. Of course Bifur and Bofur, having heard about Bilbo returning alone, had come investigating as well. Bombur, who had been helping them in the upper chambers, took one look at Bilbo and then mumbled something about tea and soup and disappeared into the hobbit’s kitchen.

Everyone was overly excited and clearly concerned about the hobbit’s arrival without his husband. Fíli and Kíli had climbed into bed with Bilbo, clucking over him like mother hens. When Bombur offered tea and sustenance, they shook him awake and before he could say anything, forced some heavily sweetened tea and a few spoons of soup into him before they allowed him to reveal what had happened.

 

The moment they had learned about Thorin not returning from a hunting trip, their panic died down considerably. Thorin was a seasoned warrior. He might have been injured or had lost his way (something Dís apparently thought to be the most likely cause of this problem) but he was able to defend himself. He had survived a dragon’s attack, defeated orcs at the gates of Moria. The dwarrows were absolutely sure that everything would be alright, once they had found their prince.

Though Bilbo didn’t share their optimism it helped him to calm down a little and eat his soup. His family and friends faith in their prince was reassuring. When they decided that they would leave at the first light of day, Bilbo felt calm enough to take a bath and sleep. Fíli and Kíli had yet to give up their spots on his bed, but after everything the hobbit had been though, he felt comforted by their presence.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

Thorin was much worse off than any of them had anticipated.

After having failed to find a single trail of deer or hare during the first hours of his hunt, he had ventured deeper into the woods. When he had not spotted any prey, he had gone deeper still. When he had heard voices later in the afternoon, he decided to investigate to see whether it was someone who could sell him something.

Belatedly he realized that he had left his purse with Bilbo, as well as most of his jewellery. In the Shire he had returned to wearing the wooden beads Bilbo had made for him, and since his armour would have been more of a hindrance than an asset during a hunt, he had left that behind as well. So the only things of value he possessed where the golden beads of his mother and he would rather eat vegetables for eternity than give them up again.

When he reached the camp of Men, he noticed that he had indeed found merchants, yet not ones who dealt in dead meat but in living one. He spotted three men relaxing around a campfire. On the trees nearby half a dozen people were shackled, men, women, even a little girl. All seemed half starved, dirty and bruised.

Slave traders! Though Thorin knew them to exist, he had always kept his distance from them. He detested slavery, as had his father and his grandfather. Never had a slave set foot into Erebor and it was the same with the Blue Mountains. Thinking back at his husband longingly, Thorin knew that he could not simply leave. These people deserved better than being sold and abused.

Crouching back, looking for a place to hide, he kept his distance, listening in on the gleeful men. They thought the little girl particularly precious, calculating how much they would be able to get for her. As if you could put a price on a human’s life! When the moon rose and the fire died down, Thorin waited another hour, then another for good measure. He wanted the slave-traders to be asleep when he started to free their cargo.

Cautiously he left his hiding place, gazing at man by the fire, before approaching the first slave. He covered her mouth to keep her quiet and when she looked at him anxiously he gestured with his daggers towards her ropes. She watched him wearily but when the rope was cut, she briefly kissed his cheek before dashing towards the woods. The process was repeated with the male right beside her. He on the other hand waited for the little girl by his side to be freed as well. Only when she was free did he take her hand and ran towards the forest.

Thorin worked on the next slave when he heard a low huff from the tree-line. It was followed by a pain-filled cry and within moments the slave traders were on their feet. Instantly they took in the situation and noticed the loss of their most precious merchandise. Angrily they zoned in on Thorin, but the dwarf was an extraordinary good fighter and held his ground against the three of them for some time. What he could not defend himself against, was one man who approached him from behind while the other two attacked his front. Unwilling to overly damage potential merchandise, one of the traders attacked him with a stone right over the head, and Thorin lost consciousness.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

Thorin was pulled back into consciousness by a sharp pain on his back. He found himself bound tightly with a piece of rope, similar to the one he had cut moments ago. A whip cracked over his back, making him inhale sharply. Still he demanded forcefully, “You will free me this instant. I am Thorin Oakenshield, son of Thráin, son of Thrór, heir to the legacy of Durin!”

But one of the traders sharply pulled him back by his hair, forcing a gasp from him. Another human used that chance to gag him, hissing into his ear, “You, filthy dwarf, have freed three of our most promising slaves. Even if you were the son of Aulë himself, we would still sell you. You have cost us a lot of money, you better hope we get a good price for you.”

Thorin started to struggle viciously when threatened with being sold. But after his first movement he noticed that not only his hands were bound, but that a rope was wound around his neck as well. It pulled tighter with every movement he made. If he continued his thrashing he would strangle himself.

A little while after he had been left hanging, one of the other slaves dared to ask him in a quietly, “Are you really a prince?”

When Thorin tried to turn his head he found himself unable to do so, due to the rope. Unable to look at the woman he only nodded.

A few moments later she revealed, “They don’t believe you. You wear no armour or jewellery or any other kind of insignia that backs up your story. They think you are a rogue dwarf from the mountains.”

With a sigh Thorin closed his eyes. He saw how his story was impossible to prove if he didn’t even carry the ring of succession. The ring would be a tangible proof of his words. But he had given it to his husband, making him promise to keep the jewel safe as long as he was hunting. What a fool he had been.

 

Still Thorin would not allow himself to be broken by these vicious humans. He knew his family would come for him. Bilbo and he had made camp only a few days away from the Blue Mountains. It had been an unpleasant surprise for him to find the slave traders so close. Everybody knew dwarrows’ position towards slavery. So all he had to do was hold on until he was rescued. He refused to believe otherwise. Gripping the bindings for leverage, Thorin pulled himself up so that the rope around his neck would loosen. Sadly it didn’t work.

When one of the traders returned to him and loosened it for him, Thorin was a little grateful. He wanted to survive this in one piece and not die from suffocation. He glared at the human who demanded, “You will stop spreading lies and I will lose this gag. Agreed?”

His scathing gaze did not faze the man, but when he pulled the gag away, Thorin hissed at him. “I will not allow a simple peasant to shut me up. I am an heir of Durin, a member of the royal family and I demand …”

Well, now the gag was in his mouth again, securely fastened at the back of his head. But Thorin didn’t mind. It gave him something to hold on to, to bury his teeth into and work through the fury about being abducted. They would come for him, Bilbo would come for him. All he had to do was hold on.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

Bilbo was up before dawn. He had prepared a big breakfast and provisions for the journey. He had changed his clothes, blindly stashed some change into his backpack. He was ready to depart before Fíli and Kíli appeared in the kitchen. None of them were particularly hungry, but Bilbo forced all of them to eat. They would have to cover many miles today.

Fíli and Kíli didn’t need a lot of packing and once Bilbo was through with cleaning his kitchen, they were waiting for him in the hallway. Together they went to the stables to get some sturdy ponies to carry them as far as possible. Bifur and Bofur were there as well, as were Ori and Dori, together with two members of the guard.

Bilbo didn’t question the dwarrows’ commitment to the quest of finding their prince. He was slightly taken aback when Bombur, Nori, Dwalin and Balin were waiting outside the gates, engaged in a heated discussion with Dís, Gloin and Oin. When the hobbit approached, he realized that Dís was prepared to come with them.

The princess argued that it was her brother that was missing and that she would not sit idly by if he was in any danger. They had travelled Middle-earth side by side. Just because they had a home now didn’t mean that she was shackled to it!

Balin on the other hand advised strongly for Dís to remain behind. Nobody could know what had happened to Thorin or how long they would need to find him. With Fíli and Kíli joining Bilbo for protection, Dís was the only heir to Thráin. And no matter how much she wanted, her first duty lay with her people, not with her family.

Prepared to argue, Dís crowded Balin against his pony, poking at his chest angrily. Bilbo saw that she was ready to shout – something they really didn’t need right now – and asked quietly behind her, “If Thorin was here, what would _he_ expect you to do?”

Both Balin and Dís turned slowly towards the hobbit, but Bilbo didn’t see the pride in the white-haired dwarf’s face. His entire concentration was on his sister-in-law. Thorin would want her to stay behind, to help their father, to take care of their people, Bilbo was sure of it, so Dís had to know as well.

Pressing her lips together, Dís admitted defeat. In a last act of defiance she decided, “Gloin and Oin will come with you. You don’t know where you will find my brother; a healer is an asset, no matter the circumstances.” Of course Gloin didn’t need prompting to follow after that decision. Wherever his brother went, he usually was by his side, defending him while the elder brother was working on patient.

Now that their travelling party contained twelve dwarrows and a hobbit, they could finally depart. The ponies were well rested and carried them swiftly over the plain, their steady trot ate up the miles. Still, Bilbo’s stomach was churning.

They were finally on their way, prepared to do everything to find their missing prince, but Bilbo couldn’t shake off the feeling that something was terribly wrong. Reaching for the scale, letting his fingers slide over the silver chain Thorin had forged for him over the summer, he forced himself to remain calm and optimistic.

Maybe Dís was right, Thorin had a terrible sense of direction. He had most likely just lost his way and once they would reach the place where Bilbo had left behind the carriages, Thorin would wait for them, complaining that he had to cook for himself for four whole days.

So why was Bilbo unable to let go of the scale? Why was he feeling that a horrible storm was brewing behind the horizon, even though the land lay calm and peaceful before him?

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 


	48. Educational Measures

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bad, bad things are happening in this chapter. Please proceed with caution.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Torture will happen in this chapter. I'm sorry but the story needs it. You can ignore this one since Chapter 49 gives you an overview over what has happened here.

Thorin was woken the next day, by a harsh pull on the rope that bound him to the tree. The dwarf realized that they would have to open at least one shackle to free him from his current position. Readying himself for that moment, he bided his time. Once the manacle from his right wrist was gone, he whipped around, attacking the human who stood beside him.

Within moments he had the man subdued, but before he could make a run for it, he felt the tip of a blade on his throat. The pressure increased and slowly forced him back. Angry at the quarrel, the man who had freed him backhanded him for good measure before fastening the restraints around Thorin’s wrists once again, this time behind his back, allowing the dwarf very little freedom.

Thorin felt blood trickling down his broken lip, but still he glared up at his captors. He would not allow himself to be defeated, not like that. But the humans merely seemed amused by his defiance. They dragged him towards their wagons, fastening him to the back of one. From that position he had to watch the three remaining slaves receive breakfast. Conversationally one of the slave traders told him, “You know, usually we all start our day with a nice, warm breakfast to give us strength for the journey, but since you don’t know your place yet, you won’t get any. Maybe hunger will dampen your spirits.”

Used to hunger and pain – his people’s journey through Middle earth had been far from comfortable – Thorin only stood beside the carriage, glaring at his captors. The other slaves avoided his eyes. They got hit when they looked at him. Before the day’s journey started, Thorin was given a little water: obviously the slavers saw no reason to parch him as well, and since he kept his mouth shut this time, the gag remained dangling around his chest as a constant reminder of what would happen if he spoke out of turn again.

Apparently the slaves were grateful for his attempt to free them, even if he had not succeeded. Once they had begun moving, the one shackled closest to him surreptitiously passed him a small piece of bread, then another, and then a quarter of an apple. Though he didn’t say a word, he ducked his head gratefully. After that it was only miles and miles of forest road to stumble over. The slave traders sat on their wagons, luckily ignoring their cargo for the most part.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

When the company arrived at Bilbo and Thorin’s former campground, the hobbit found the wagons untouched. Going over their contents showed that nobody had been there. Everything was in order and wasn’t that all the more reason to worry since it meant that Thorin hadn’t been back? Although every part of Bilbo urged him to press onward, go to the woods to look for his husband, he helped to set up a small base camp and to prepare lunch.

They discussed the best course of action extensively and it was decided that twelve dwarrows were more than enough to look for their missing prince. The two guards would return to the Blue Mountains with Bilbo’s belongings and then return here with an empty carriage, waiting for their return. The stakes for Thorin to be hurt or even severely injured were quite high if he had not made his way back to the camp by now. So a mode of transport other than on the back of a pony was a sensible choice.

They spread out through the woods in the afternoon, hoping to find traces of Thorin to tell them which way to go, but when the sun went down they came back, silently sitting around a small fire, starring into the flames. Not even the usually so spirited Fíli and Kíli could bring themselves to lighten the atmosphere with their chatter. And when they all cuddled around the fire, Bilbo once again bracketed by the young princes, the hobbit fell into an uneasy sleep.

 

_When he woke up again, he found himself in the middle of a clearing. It was drizzling and the wood around him seemed oppressive and grey. He looked around, searched for his husband who had been by his side but a moment ago, but the hobbit couldn’t spot Thorin. Turning around and around he got dizzy before steadying himself on a small rock._

_Well, lingering here wouldn’t do any good. Systematically he started to walk the edge of the clearing, hoping to find footsteps of his husband that would tell him where Thorin had gone. At the west end Bilbo finally found some markings on the ground. Deep steps indicated that Thorin had vanished into the woods there._

_Following the heavy footprints Bilbo thought he could hear a soft groan, coming from his left. Worriedly he dashed towards it and found his husband lying on the ground, blood pooling beneath him. When he tried to touch Thorin, checking for the origin of his injuries, the body evaporated into smoke._

_Looking around frantically, Bilbo suddenly noticed that he could hear running water, a small waterfall or a well. Running towards the sound, he found the body of his dwarf floating in the middle of grey water. Without any regard for personal safety, Bilbo waded into the water. It licked over his feet like ice and the hobbit was sure that his legs would freeze solid the next moment, but he pressed onward anxiously, to reach his spouse. But at the first touch, the armoured form dissolved into a liquid substance, dissipating in the water._

_Unable to bite back a sob Bilbo turned, ice-cold water reaching his waist, pulling all strength from him. After the second turn he imagined his dwarf’s form hovering at the edge of a cliff above him. He was wearing only trousers and a shirt, not even a weapon. Once again Bilbo scrambled towards him, pulling himself out of the water and up the stones. He could make out more details now. Thorin was ghostly pale, deep circles ran under his eyes. He had a split lip and there was blood dripping from his wrists to the ground. Bilbo wanted to shout for him, beg him to stay where he was so that he could get him, but no sound emerged from his throat._

_Still the dwarf seemed to be able to understand since he shook his head sadly. In a whisper that resonated in Bilbo’s mind rather than being carried by the wind, Thorin begged, “Find me, please. I will hold on as long as possible but you have to find me!” Then Bilbo finally found his voice again, shouting out in agony as Thorin was harshly pulled back by an invisible chain, leaving Bilbo alone in the middle of the woods._

 

“Bilbo, shhhh, everything is alright.”

“Bilbo, please … calm down.”

Fíli and Kíli were talking on top of each other, anxiously trying to stop their hobbit’s cries of anguish. They had not had the most restful of nights, but they wouldn’t complain that Bilbo had twisted in his sleep, hitting them repeatedly all through the night. Waking in the morning to a cry from their new uncle’s lips that could wake the dead, they tried to still him to the best of their abilities.

Instantly they were surrounded by dwarrows, all of whom looked at Bilbo with concern.

 

Bilbo took a deep breath, then another, and gratefully accepted the waterskin that was pushed into his hands. Slowly his mind found its way out of the grey woods and back to the camping ground. Shaking his head at the worried looks of his friends, he explained, “It was a nightmare. It was only a nightmare, everything is alright.”

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

Bilbo liked all of his friends, he truly did, but on occasion he liked Nori best. Not because the dwarf had tried to adapt to the hobbit’s needs so very much in the first place – all dwarrows had adjusted to create a life as comfortable as possible for Bilbo – but the auburn-haired dwarf reminded him so very much of his father that it hurt sometimes to look at him. Bungo would watch and listen, let his son rant about something, let Belladonna deal with his overflowing emotions, but it had always been the kind soul of his father who had sat by his bed at the end of the evening, listening to him when Bilbo had talked about the things that bothered him the most. With kind words he had adjusted his son’s attitude so that a fight between friends would not end in the termination of a friendship but in an apology from both parts.

On occasion, Nori was just the same. He kept his distance and watched; once Bilbo was alone, he approached him, unheard, unnoticed by most, showing silent support, seemingly not caring if the hobbit felt the need to talk or not. His presence helped. Today Bilbo couldn’t keep it in. He was tired and his words were somewhat slurred. “I saw him … in the woods, dying or already dead, armoured every time but the last one. The last time he was like the day he had left me, wearing nothing but his basics and a crossbow, he even gave me his ring for safekeeping, a promise to return. He only had his hunting knife and a crossbow. What if he is injured, what if he is already dead? He called out for me to find him, in my dream. But what if I am not able to?”

“Bilbo,” a comforting hand patted his arm, showing support when the hobbit was so beside himself. “Thorin will always, always come back to you, you know that. He came to you even in your dreams. What more proof do you need that he is still alive? You two are like Yavanna and Mahal, as different as we come but meant for each other all the same. We won’t allow any other outcome, I promise!”

Swallowing heavily, fighting back the tears Bilbo nodded. “I wish I would have forced him to put on his armour, take his axe. But he said he was going hunting, not chopping wood, as if he …” sighing deeply, Bilbo interrupted himself. It hurt so much to think back to their playful bickering four days ago. “He said he could travel lighter, quieter without his protection. That it would increase his chances for a successful hunt. Now I wish I would have insisted of serving chips and beans for the last two days. What a fool I have been.”

 _> Don’t! Don’t ever say that, Bilbo Baggins!<_ Bifur snarled behind them. He had closed the distance, wishing to offer comfort as well. But Bilbo’s way of degrading himself really did not sit well with him. It was a stressful situation for all of them, so he vented his tension by berating his friend, _> You are kind and supportive. We all know that there is nothing you would not do for one of us and especially Thorin. He would tell you this himself, if he was with us.<_

Biting back a sob, Bilbo whispered, _> But he is not.<_

The hobbit did not notice the looks Bifur and Nori threw each other. Some good had apparently come from Bilbo’s time in the Shire, if the hobbit now understood their language so easily. Both dwarrows had been fascinated by how easily the hobbit was able to switch between languages when he had had the children of Elrond as his guests. Apparently he had reached the point in his studies where he was using Khuzdul like Sindarin: if someone spoke to him, he answered accordingly. He would have to keep it a secret in the Blue Mountains, but it was comforting to know that there was no way for any dwarf in the Blue Mountains to keep secrets from the royal consort by using a language unknown to the hobbit.

Bifur mirrored Nori’s gesture from earlier and patted his hand in comfort. In a voice that did not leave the slightest room for doubt he promised, _> We will find Thorin, even if it’s the last thing we do,<_ before leaving Nori and Bilbo behind, approaching Kíli who was one of the best trackers they had.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

It took them two days of combing through the woods to stumble upon a clearing where they found traces of a camp. Even though they still couldn't identify Thorin's footsteps, Bilbo felt vaguely hopeful. His hope increased a hundredfold when he spotted his husband’s crossbow hidden between the roots of a tree close to the clearing. Instantly all dwarrows were called together and it took them no more than a few moments to track down the path the group that had camped there had taken upon their departure. The last footsteps clearly belonged to Thorin. Finally they had a lead.

Excitedly Bilbo wanted to dash after them, there was a path they could follow, but the dwarrows insisted on returning to the base camp to get the ponies. Having stumbled through the forest for two days without rest, Bilbo hesitantly followed. But now they knew where Thorin had been, there had been people, humans, who had accompanied him. Maybe they had found him injured and had taken care of him. But why had he not told them to bring him to the Blue Mountains, promising payment for their efforts?

 

Back at the camp Bilbo helped with the preparation of dinner. He had tried to change his clothes after a fresh dip into the small stream that gurgled nearby, but pulling his spare set out, he realized that he had packed one of his best attire by accident, soft dark-grey trousers, a creamy dress-shirt and the deep-blue coat in the colours of the house of Durin. He had worn these clothes on several occasions, usually if he wanted to make an impression when standing by Thorin's side. They were beautiful, but clearly not suitable for travelling. So he had only changed his small-clothes and washed his trousers and shirt to get out most of the sweat and dirt they had collected.

He felt very self-conscious when he returned to the camp, but Oín smiled at him and offered an old shirt until his clothes were dry. Luckily in the middle of August that wouldn't take long. Fastening his belt around the middle, Bilbo looked more like a lady than a gentlehobbit, but he couldn't care less at the moment. Tomorrow they would saddle the ponies again and they would follow the tracks. He would see his husband again very soon, he was sure of it.

This night no dreams plagued him until the early morning hours. He felt the dew on his cheeks and rubbed it away, turning around to snuggle into Fíli's embrace to keep warm until they would rise.

_When Bilbo closed his eyes this time he found himself facing his husband again. He wanted to go to Thorin, embrace him to make sure he was alright and tell him how happy he was to see him again, but something held him back, held him and Thorin apart and no matter how hard Bilbo tried he could not reach his dwarf. He struggled desperately against unseen chains that trapped him._

_He wanted to shout for Thorin, to tell him to come closer and help him, but when he looked up, all he saw was a single tear rolling over his husband's cheek. Before Bilbo could say another word, Thorin was pulled out of reach again._

When Bilbo opened his eyes again, he did not shout, but the uneasy feeling that something was very wrong had returned. The dwarrows tried to lift his spirits but when Bilbo shared his unease they stopped their attempts. Clearly they felt the same. What in the name of all the gods of Middle-earth had happened to his husband?

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

Once the dwarrows left the woods, sparse land stretched out endlessly before them. All they could see in the distance were three human figures. When they approached them they found a woman, a man and a little girl hauling themselves towards the woods they had just left. When the dwarrows were within reach, the man approached Balin’s pony, since he was riding up front and clearly looked the least threatening, and sank to his knees before the pony. Bilbo couldn’t make out what they were saying, since he had been talking to Fíli and Kíli at the back of their train. The young princes had tried to comfort him with very little success.

Once Balin dismounted, the others followed his lead. When Bilbo came closer he saw Balin gazing into his direction briefly, talking urgently to the man. When the hobbit asked about what was going on, Balin explained, “This young man and his family have just left the village a few days from here. They think that we might find Thorin there since it is the only settlement in the area.”

“Really?” Bilbo asked hopefully, but before he could make further inquiries, Balin drew his attention to the lack of nourishment these people had suffered. Of course the hobbit got instantly busy organizing a mid-day camp to prepare a meal.

Once Bilbo was distracted, Nori approached the First Councillor. _> What did they really say?<_

_With a deep sigh, Balin revealed, >That Thorin had freed them a few days ago and got captured in the process. They had kept their distance from the slave traders and had tried ‘Slaveville’ as we call it to find work there. They left, however, when another group of slavers arrived in the town. The human male saw them while working on the fields. They left instantly but the man thinks he might have seen Thorin on the wagons the traders used. Our prince’s hair is quite distinctive.<_

Looking at their little hobbit, Nori pondered. _ >We should keep Bilbo as far away from this village as possible.<_

_> Agreed.<_

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

Thorin had lost track of how long he had been in the hands of his captors. They had bound him to the carriage and despite their brutal treatments the other slaves had helped him with a few scraps of their food after every meal. It was not much but better than nothing and Thorin was infinitely grateful to them.

After a few days, things changed. He was released, drenched in water and pushed into a big cage that sat on the top of another carriage. The smell of the filthy floor made his eyes water, but he was too tired care. He just curled into himself in a corner and closed his eyes.

They fed him very little, offered only a few sips of water, leaving him parched and hungry. But still he was not ready to succumb to their wishes. He would not go to his knees before this human scum. He growled at them constantly, defied them at every turn but all he got in return were more whippings, so that his clothes turned into filthy rags, saturated with sweat and blood, barely covering his body. He was in a constant state of pain, but he held on to it: there was something, someone worthy of enduring this. His husband would come for him, Thorin was sure of it. So he clenched his teeth and stared up at the slavers defiantly, determined not to give in.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

Travelling on a pony was considerably faster than going on foot. For the first time Bilbo really cherished that, because he could not reach his husband fast enough for his liking. They had dismantled the base camp and all the dwarrows were now following their latest lead together. It didn't take them long to find the small path in the south that led into the woods and inevitably brought them back to the clearing. But they didn't dwell there; instead they followed the trail as fast as they could.

Only when the sun went down, did they allow themselves to rest. They ate and slept though the dark hours. But at dawn the next day they were back on their ponies.

They followed a winding road for two more days and finally left the forest, overlooking a vast grassland that was only sparsely interrupted by barns or copses of trees. In the distance they could spot a village. They were aware that this village was the most likely goal for the travellers they were following, so they set off towards it.

The village was nearly within reach that evening. However, they decided not to enter it in the middle of the night since that might draw more attention to them than approaching during the day. So they camped in a haybarn. They decided that it was better for only a few of them to approach this human settlement (for the size of the houses even from a distance led to no other conclusion) the next morning. Though Balin, Dwalin, Bifur and even Bofur argued that it was better for Bilbo to stay behind, they would scout ahead to find out where Thorin was accommodated, the hobbit dismissed the idea almost immediately. This was his husband they were talking about. There was no chance that he would stay behind.

Still his friends argued, found reasons for him to not accompany them and Bilbo started to clutch Thorin’s scale with increasing desperation. Why were they so against him finding his husband? When his fingers brushed over Thorin’s ring he had safely threaded on his silver chain, right above the broken scale of armour, Bilbo looked down at his chest. Pulling the necklace up, he freed the silver jewel and turned it in his hand. It was an insignia of Thorin’s royal status. A status the royal consort had to cover when the prince was indisposed. Thorin had told him that after their wedding, and the idea had scared Bilbo quite a lot that day, but responsibility didn’t scare him anymore.

All dwarrows had gone silent, watching him when he put the ring on his middle finger, kissing it before pressing both hands to his chest, placing the signet ring of the Durin line over his heart. Bilbo lifted his eyes, looked at his friends. He didn’t need to say it; he could see it in their eyes that they understood. He was the royal consort! This was his decision!

So he simply said, “I _am_ coming with you.”

And what he got for an answer were respectfully lowered eyes and a mumbled, “Yes, Milord.”

 

Nori and Bofur, as well as the sons of Fundin accompanied Bilbo during his walk through the town two hours later. Leaving their ponies at the local stable, they weaved through the people, looking for Thorin. Nori had suggested the tavern for travelling merchants, and since the inn usually was in close proximity to the marketplace, they started there. When they passed the fountain that was surrounded by market stalls, Bilbo froze.

All the hobbit could think was, ‘They knew! They knew, that’s why they didn’t want me here.’

In a corner of the marketplace, an area was covered with straw. Two females and one male were bound to the wall and in the corner, hands high above his head was a dwarf. Only his back – marred with whip marks – was on display to any potential customer. Slave traders, Bilbo thought disgusted, slave traders had taken his husband.

When Bilbo started stomping towards the stall, drawing his blade, Dwalin blocked his path while Bofur stepped behind the hobbit's back, effectively trapping him between them. Deep and uncharacteristically vicious, Bilbo growled, “Let me go! They will not hurt him again. I will get him back this instant!”

Closing his fingers around Bilbo’s wrist to keep the hobbit from using his blade, Dwalin whispered, “We can’t! Slave trade is a legitimate business. If this town allows it, we can’t just barge in, demanding for Thorin to be freed. We can’t fight this entire village!”

“Bilbo, please.” Bofur’s words was even more subdued then Dwalin’s. “We will find a way, before this day is through. Just stay calm now and don’t draw any more attention to us.”

Reaching for the hobbit’s neck, Dwalin brought his and Bilbo’s foreheads together. “The day we met, I promised to be at your service. That hasn’t changed and if you give the order, I will follow you wherever you lead or die trying, but please, think about this, Bilbo.”

Reluctantly Bilbo sheathed his blade, nodded to Dwalin and leaned against Bofur for a moment to calm his racing heart. The usually so cheery dwarf was grim, but the hobbit was glad for his friend to be there. There had to be a way to solve this without bloodshed. It was Balin who came up with an unexpected solution.

The white-haired dwarf ushered the others away from the marketplace and joined them a little while later outside of town. On their way back to the barn he asked Bilbo, “At the campsite outside of the forest you said that the clothes you brought were not at all suitable for travelling. Which ones did you pack?”

Confused, why all of a sudden his wardrobe was an issue, Bilbo told, “The dress-set with the dark-grey trousers and the deep-blue coat. The one I wear most of the time when Thorin and I are in for a public appearance. Why do you ask?”

“Because, Master Baggins,” Balin revealed with a smile, “The slave traders will leave this evening, so you are going to buy a slave this afternoon before they depart. All we have to do is make you presentable and see if we can come up with enough money to cover the cost.”

“You want me … to buy my husband … from slave traders?” Bilbo stuttered, looking at Balin as if the dwarf had lost his mind.

But when the white-haired dwarf only nodded, the hobbit narrowed his eyes, nodding resolutely. “Alright, let’s get this over with. I won’t have Thorin in the hands of these people a moment longer than necessary.”

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 


	49. Covering the cost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How to buy a dwarvish slave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I admit it, yes I am pretty proud of this chapter.

Though Bilbo wanted to return to the market as soon as possible, they still had to come up with a plan to make it believable for a hobbit to buy a dwarvish slave. Bilbo definitely didn’t look capable of taming an unruly slave by himself.

Fíli and Kíli were scandalized when they heard about the fate that had befallen their uncle and Gloin downright vetoed the plan, demanding that they would simply march to the village and free Thorin by force. Ori looked terribly upset about it all and Dori fussed over him to keep his little brother calm despite all the wrongs that had been committed against their future king.

Nori however, just stood there, listening to Bifur, Bofur and Bombur arguing in Khuzdul about the best course of action, watching Bilbo who stood in the middle of it all quite lost and unbearably sad. The hobbit had realized that the plan Balin had presented had the best chances of success. He was even unfolding his clothes, straightening them out, rubbing his face to get it as clean as possible ahead of dressing up.

Nori approached him silently from behind, pulling a comb from his pocket, gesturing towards Bilbo’s slightly unruly braids. “May I?”

Bilbo sat at the side, pulled his knees up to his chest, wrapping them with his arms, resting his chin on them. Every tiny part of the hobbit screamed that all this was not important; still he waited patiently for his friend to get his hair in order. Bilbo wanted to get up, to barge in and save his husband, sure that Thorin would do exactly that if he were in Bilbo’s place. But Thorin was always the one for the ‘hands on’ approach in any situation. That didn’t mean that it was the wisest course of action.

“How can I ever make them believe that I am able to command a slave, especially a dwarf?” Gesturing towards the others, Bilbo whispered. “If push came to shove, I would never stand a chance against any of you.”

Fíli and Kíli argued agitatedly with Dori and Ori. Bifur, Bofur and Bombur gestured widely while discussing the disadvantages of the plan Balin had proposed. The warrior Gloin was counting the money he had collected from all of them and his brother Oín was going over his stock of bandages and salves. The old dwarf had been quite shocked to hear that their prince had been whipped repeatedly. Balin and Dwalin were the only ones who didn’t add to the commotion. Both stood at the side, stoically watching the other dwarrows. Each and every dwarf present was a better fighter than Bilbo, there was no doubt about that.

The moment the hobbit looked at the sons of Fundin, Nori leaned closer and reminded him quietly, “And still, here are twelve dwarrows at your command who would invade a village and slay every human who defied them, if you gave the order. You don’t need to make anybody believe anything, Master Baggins, because you _are_ commanding us already. You just have to decide what we will do.”

A tiny smile spread on Bilbo’s face when he turned towards Nori. “… at my service … at my every command …” The dwarf mirrored the smile and nodded twice.

 

After having taken a moment to ponder, the hobbit stood up and approached the sons of Fundin. He looked up at them with a calculating smile. “Balin, Dwalin, would you please be my slaves for the day?”

Had Bilbo suddenly sprouted wings and breathed fire, the stunned silence could not have been more deafening. Despite their arguing, every last dwarf in the hay-barn seemed to have heard his question. Dwarrows despised slavery, so Bilbo’s request was not only degrading for Balin and Dwalin but downright insulting. Still, after sharing a look, the sons of Fundin bowed in unison and agreed, “As you wish, Master Baggins.”

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

An hour later, Bilbo was on pony-back again, with a groomed Balin riding beside him, Dwalin in full gear at their back. The plan was simple, since Bilbo didn’t have to prove anything. Dwalin cut an impressive figure all on his own and whoever saw him would not have the smallest doubt that he could best even the most unruly of dwarrows.

Arrived at the marketplace, they didn’t bother to put their ponies in the local stable again, they just hobbled them at the fountain and languidly strolled over the marketplace. Bilbo walked in front, with the dwarrows a step behind him: Balin at his left with his glasses in hand, Dwalin at his right, glaring hostilely at anybody who dared to approach his hobbit master.

They both had taken off all of their jewellery and combed out their hair, binding it with mere leather straps. Despite their rich armour, the braids and knick-knacks dwarrows wore were marks of their status. Without showing any of them, the two were ‘non-entities’ and every dwarf around them would avoid approaching them.

Bilbo on the other hand looked positively respectable. The golden beads he had been given for his birthday reflected the sunlight and the silver ring of the Durin line on his right hand drew everybody’s attention. Still nobody dared to even talk to him, as Dwalin glared quite impressively at every human in their vicinity.

When they approached the corner where the slave traders were, Bilbo hastened forward. Only Balin’s steady hand held him back.

 

One of the slave traders was viciously whipping Thorin’s back. His angry rant echoed over the marketplace. “You will not defy us again.” Two more lashes, the dwarf didn’t even seem to notice. “You will obey a customer when he gives you a command.” Three hits that made Thorin flinch. “And you will kneel when we tell you to.”

“Never!” A defiant but weak growl made the trader hit the dwarf all the harder. Still he held his ground. He was shaking and weak, clutching onto the ropes above his head with what seemed to be the last of his strength. But he did not kneel, despite the human’s order.

 

Balin wished very much that he could borrow one of his brother’s axes and slay all of these vile people. But Bilbo had chosen to see this plan though. Buying Thorin from this horrible man would ensure a fast departure, so he looked at their hobbit, saw the seething hatred in his eyes and whispered, “Let me talk to them.”

When Bilbo’s head whipped around Balin felt the urge to take a step back, so strong was the revulsion in Bilbo’s eyes. But he held his ground, watched Bilbo get himself under control, before the hobbit gave his consent.

Together they stepped closer to the slave traders, drawing their attention. For a moment they allowed the vendors to observe them to get an impression, but when the human that had hit Thorin asked for their wishes, Bilbo merely passed him by to inspect the merchandise, allowing Balin to deal with the unpleasant man. Dwalin remained by his side.

Bilbo didn’t dare to approach Thorin, since he wasn’t sure if he could keep his composure. After walking the line of the three slaves who were standing or sitting there, he hesitated. The hobbit had trouble stepping into the role he was supposed to play: a rich man who didn’t care to be gainsaid. With an inward smile he remembered Dís during her interaction with this southern princess who had made advances to his husband. Picking up a mannerism from his sister-in-law, Bilbo raised his eyes and returned to the vendor. Apparently Balin had already informed the man of his master’s desire to buy a slave.

Disbelievingly the human looked at the richly clothed but small hobbit. The Shire folk was known to be small and weak, not at all suitable for the ownership of dwarrows.

But maybe the dwarf had learned his lesson and would appease this customer. On the other hand, the human slave he still had was much more subdued already. Maybe he should offer him instead. He was in a much better condition, therefore worth twice as much as the dwarf. The hobbit surely looked as if he could afford him.

Secretly the human had regretted more than once over the last week that they had taken the dwarf with them. He was too stubborn and too defiant for his own good. He would never make a good slave, but for now he was weak and beaten. He hadn’t had a proper meal ever since yesterday morning and only very little water to keep his resistance at a minimum.

So he bowed deeply and offered, “Surely we can come to an agreement. Let me show you this young man here. He is strong and able to work on the fields and in the house, he is …”

“No.” Bilbo spoke quietly, but still the authority of his tone had interrupted the trader mid-sentence. “I don’t care for slaves twice my size. I would have to adjust my home and that’s really not worth it. I have come here because I saw the dwarf. But if he is not up for sale, I will leave again. Have a good day.”

The hobbit did his very best to keep himself from shaking from nerves. He knew how to haggle. You were always in a better position if your counterpart didn’t believe that you were overly interested in the merchandize. He would lose his chance to bargain if he appeared too eager.

Luckily, as expected, the trader held him back. When he touched the hobbit’s shoulder, a malicious growl form Dwalin made him flinch and retreat instantly. Bilbo, on the other hand, made an offhand gesture for Dwalin to be silent and the dwarf returned to merely glaring at the man venomously. The tall warrior obviously had been the right choice. He was instilling fear in the hearts of his opponents merely by looking at them. Were their situation not so dire, Bilbo would have snickered.

The trader bowed apologetically. “I am sorry, little Master. But the dwarf is kind of stubborn. I don’t know if you would be very happy with him. He’s not easily tamed.”

Raising his eyebrows, Bilbo asked, glancing back at Dwalin for a moment, “Does this one appear timid to you? Honestly, you don’t know the first thing about dwarrows. No wonder you had to beat him half to death to get him under control. But I really don’t have time for this. Are you willing to sell him or not?”

Seeing the trade slip through his fingers, the vendor tumbled over his own words to confirm, “Of course we are, please take a closer look. He might be injured but he is still strong, good muscles and easy on the eyes once he is cleaned up. He’s a good piece of flesh, if you allow me to say so. You just have to find a way to get him under control.”

There was still the shadow of doubt in his eyes. Bilbo didn’t like it, so he ordered in Khuzdul, _> Balin, go and check him.<_

Clearly debating with himself if he should step into the white-haired dwarf’s way, the vendor asked suspiciously, “What did you just tell him?”

Blasé, Bilbo brushed away the question, “I won’t buy a slave without having assessed his worth.” Lifting his right hand, the hobbit polished his ring before looking into the sky as if the feathery clouds were more interesting than the man before him.

Still, Dwalin saw his left hand firmly clasped behind his back. Bilbo was digging his nails into the palm of his hand, already drawing blood. It seemed like their hobbit needed the pain to keep up his appearance. Pulling a small rag from one of his pockets, Dwalin stepped up to him. If Bilbo lost his composure or gave any indication that he was not what he appeared to be, this mission was in jeopardy.

Regrettably the vendor chose this exact moment to speak to him. “You, how much time did your master need to tame you?”

Grateful for the diversion, Dwalin took the chance to reach for Bilbo’s hand, pressing the rag between his fingers to soak up the blood before pulling it to his lips, bowing deeply. With an admiring smile he looked at the hobbit and revealed, “I pledged myself at Master Baggins’s service the very first day I met him and have been his to command ever since.” It was close enough to the truth to make it believable, especially when Bilbo bestowed an affectionate smile on him.

The hobbit’s voice was calm, apparently lost in memory, when he added, “We had a little rough start, but it worked out in the end, didn’t it? I didn’t regret getting this one into my house for a single moment.”

Balin’s return interrupted this little walk down memory lane. He declared Thorin to be in a really bad condition, but still salvageable. So the haggling started.

Dwalin stood very close behind Bilbo, the tips of his fingers at the small of the hobbit’s back, grounding him, reminding him that he was not alone in a situation where he had to put a price on the life of the person that mattered the most to him. Still it was unbearably hard for Bilbo, but they only had so much money after supplying the slaves that had pointed them towards this town. If that was not enough, they would have to find another way. But that would mean that Thorin would stay here, in the hands of his captors for another night. That thought alone was unbearable to Bilbo, so he used every trick he knew to lower the price.

Instead of getting frustrated, the vendor worked up good spirits; apparently people didn’t haggle with him very often like Bilbo did. So when the hobbit was ready to admit defeat because a few coins were missing, he offered, “You know what, little Master, you drive a hard bargain and I can see that I will get nowhere with you, so allow me to make a proposal.”

When Bilbo looked at him encouragingly, he looked from Dwalin to Thorin and then back to the hobbit. Grinning, he suggested, “You can bring him to his knees, something my colleagues and I have not been able to achieve, I will give him to you for the price you have offered.”

“Bil…” Balin stepped in, looking worried at his ‘Master’ but Bilbo cut him off with a mere raising of his hand. He looked over the vendor as if to judge if he would be true to his word, and after a mere heartbeat offered his hand. “Deal.”

Laughing out loud the trader shook his hand and called upon his partners so that they could witness the spectacle. Balin and Dwalin were hovering behind Bilbo, their anxiety radiating from them, but Bilbo didn’t care. They would take Thorin with them and they would do so within the hour. No alternatives, no second chances.

When he approached his husband, he found him delirious due to the lack of water and food. Thorin's face was covered in scratches and a cut on his forehead was still bleeding sluggishly. Both of his eyes were swollen shut, but the hobbit didn’t let this gruesome image hold him back. Stepping closer to Thorin, he realized that his husband did everything in his power not to flinch; apparently the only contact with other people he had had over the last weeks had been violent.

Still, when Bilbo stood right before him, Thorin inhaled deeply, closed his eyes and breathed out Bilbo’s name. So the hobbit ordered, “Kneel!” in good faith that his husband would recognize him further by the sound of his voice.

But to his surprise the dwarf spat at him, pulling himself even more upright, sneering, “Never! A descendant of Durin will never bow before dishonourable scum!”

Bilbo heard the slave traders snickering, and closed the last distance. Burying his fingers in Thorin’s hair so that his husband would not attack him by accident, due to his lack of recognition, Bilbo reminded him in the language of his forefathers, _> On our wedding day, you swore to serve and obey me. Now obey and kneel and this will be over.<_

For a heartbeat Thorin squeezed his eyes shut even more, moved his head as if to determine if the hand there was about to hurt him. But Bilbo had wanted his attention, not to do any harm so he moved with him. Everybody looked at the dwarf breathlessly for another moment, and then Thorin sank to his knees, resting his head against Bilbo’s thigh. Slowly the hobbit cradled his husbands head, allowing him to draw comfort from their proximity.

When he turned towards the slave traders again, they seemed completely baffled by this display of ownership. The vendor he had bargained with asked, flabbergasted, “What did you say to him?”

“Revealing that was not part of our bargain,” Bilbo said coldly. “Will you honour our agreement or not?”

Of course he would. After one tender caress, Bilbo stepped back from Thorin, allowing the vendor to open the bindings, and luckily Dwalin was right beside him, otherwise his best friend would have fallen flat on his face. Clearly the dwarf was at the end of his strength.

Balin finalized the trade and paid the human.

Bilbo left the market stall and went to another one, buying meat, fresh vegetables and some sweet fruits before strolling back to their ponies as if he had all the time in the world. Inwardly the hobbit was vibrating with anger about finding his husband in such a degrading position and cold rage at Thorin’s injuries. What kind of monsters were these men to harm another person in such a way?

But he still had to maintain his façade and only returned to the ponies when he saw Dwalin and Balin waiting there patiently. Thorin was sitting before his warrior friend.

Bilbo allowed Balin to help him into the saddle and slowly they trotted out of town. Once out of sight of the marketplace, Bilbo sped up their journey as fast as he dared with his injured partner.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

When they returned to the barn, the sun was already sinking to the horizon. A general gasp of relief could be heard when the dwarrows saw Thorin riding before Dwalin, but the mood turned to tense and nearly violent when they took in the condition of their prince.

As soon as they were close enough, Fíli and Kíli reached for their uncle and when others tried to help, a sharp word from the blond prince held them back. Without additional help, the young princes placed their uncle on one of the clean sheets Oín had spread out on the floor. In a full circle the dwarrows hovered over their prince until the healer ordered them back, with only his brother helping him to assess Thorin’s wounds.

After the dwarf had been stripped and the worst of the blood had been cleaned away, Oín found only three whip-marks deep enough to require stitches. Bilbo – jittery and out of his mind with worry – had already set some water to boil, anticipating that the healer might need it for his tools. Grateful for the quick thinking, Oín made good use of it and within the hour Thorin’s back was stitched together, salves had been applied and bandages had been wrapped around his torso.

In the meantime Bilbo had started on another, bigger pot, filled it with water, slivers of dried meat and had cut every last piece of vegetables he had found in his and Bombur’s backpack. He was stirring the soup even though it was not even cooking, but the continuing motion helped him to remain sane and not succumb to the hysteric breakdown he felt approaching.

 

Once Oín was finished, Bilbo approached his husband with a small wine-skin he had bought as well. He knew the wine in there to be sweet and strong, something that would help Thorin to build up his energy again, but at the same time numb him so that the pain would not overwhelm him during the night. After allowing the healer a taste, Bilbo held the skin to his husband’s parched lips and squeezed a few drops into Thorin’s mouth at a time.

Clearly desperate for something to drink, Thorin licked his wet lips eagerly and over the course of half an hour half of the wine-skin was empty. Bilbo was given water and a bowl of the soup he had cooked to nurture his husband. Though all the dwarrows had found a place in the barns, sitting on hay-stacks or leaning against the wall, nobody said a word, they all just monitored their prince and his consort, ready to jump in if either needed something.

When the sun finally set, they all just rolled up on the floor right where they were. Fíli and Kíli curled up close to their uncle and Bilbo who had wrapped himself around Thorin, to make him feel safe again, no matter if he was asleep or awake.

 

Shortly before dawn, Thorin suddenly had some kind of seizure. He started to shiver and cramp and only with the help of Gloin and Dwalin was Oín able to bring him into an upright position that seemed to help. After a few moments the shivers returned with a vengeance and after one empty retch, Thorin vomited up all the soup and the wine he had ingested in the evening.

Bilbo was close to tears, trying to hold on to Thorin who frantically tried to bat his hands away. Oín tried to help but his prince continued to lunge for him whenever he came within reach. In a reckless attempt to resolve this situation, Bilbo wrapped his arms around his husband from behind when Thorin tried to hit Oín and beseeched him, “Please, Thorin, please stop. You have to let Oín help you so that you can get better. I can’t lose you now that I have found you.”

Apparently his words were not able to reach his husband, since the dwarf shook him off, pulling away from him again. Scared out of his mind, Bilbo fought him, tried to pull him in, tears streaming down his cheeks. “Please, Thorin, I love you so much, I can’t be without you for another day of my life. Please, calm down and let Oín help you.”

Nobody could say if it was because Thorin was at the end of his strength or because of Bilbo’s desperate pleading, but the dwarf gave up all fight and slumped back into his husband’s arms, blindly reached for his face. In a hoarse voice he whispered, _> You know, I thought this would be a nightmare, but with you, it turns out to be a pretty good dream.<_

“What?” Bilbo pulled him closer, reassuring him in his own language so that Thorin’s hazed mind would understand easier, _> That's no dream, Thorin. I am here, everything is going to be fine, I promise!<_

_> Sure, whatever you say.<_ Thorin tried a weak smile, closer to being asleep than being awake. _> But I know this is a dream. You know why? I have dreamed of you ever since my abduction. Bilbo will save me because he cares for me. But he would never say that he loves me. To him we are only an arrangement. But that’s alright, he is a very good hobbit after all, you know, and I can consider myself lucky to have him.<_

Carefully cradling the hand Bilbo had on Thorin’s cheek, the dwarf sighed, _> But it’s nice to have you here. Dreaming of you always makes everything better.<_ After that the dwarf lost consciousness again. Deep and calm breaths told the dwarrows that their prince was now resting peacefully, and they breathed all the more easily for it.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 


	50. Rightful punishment and a very fluffy unicorn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No summary needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's for you Baccadoro.

Bilbo stoically shook his head over what had just happened. In a whisper he reassured himself, “That’s not true. That is not true, he has to know that.” Until Nori pulled him back, placing Thorin in the waiting hands of Fíli and Kíli who were hovering at the edge of his resting place.

Pulling Bilbo out of the barn, he tried to make the shivering hobbit look at him. But Bilbo’s eyes aimlessly wandered over the landscape that was illuminated by the first rays of the sunrise. He twitched time and again, until Nori shook him, demanding his attention. “Bilbo, what is it?”

Moving his head frantically, the hobbit muttered, “I showed him. I did everything in my power to show him. I made his favourite food for breakfast and sometimes even for dinner. You can only have venison so many times before it gets old, you know? And I made seedcake twice a week. Sometimes I even sneaked some into his pockets when I knew that he had council sessions and would not have time for elevenses or only for a very late lunch. And I made more beads for him.”

Desperately clutching Nori’s arms, digging his small fingers into the dwarf’s flesh, leaving marks, Bilbo asked urgently, “Beads are important, aren’t they? They are a sign of affection! And I mended his clothes, even the ones he barely wears any more. And I embroider those he likes best with roses, most of the time only the cuffs or the collar with tiny blossoms, since no grown dwarf would want red roses all over his shirt. And the rune!”

Bilbo pulled back his sleeve to present the combined Baggins-Durin rune that was inked into his skin. “It was my wedding present to him. Such visible signs are important for your people! Are they not? And I told him that he was the most important person to me. And when he went to the Shire with me, we had a family dinner. With the entire Took family who lives in Hobbiton, and they all approved of him and told him so. And I …”

“Bilbo … _Bilbo!_ ” Nori shook the hobbit again. Bilbo was completely incoherent now, his rambling didn’t make sense nor did it seem to be related to the situation. When the hobbit stopped and looked up at his auburn-haired friend, completely at loss, the dwarf asked, “What, by Mahal, are you talking about?”

“I didn’t say it.” Bilbo whispered. “I showed him in every way I could imagine, but I never said it, because he didn’t either and I thought that he just didn’t want to talk about it.”

“Said what?”

“That I love him!”

“What?”

“I love him, Nori. I love Thorin so very much. And I never told him, not once in all the time we have known each other. And now he is lying there, hurt and desperate. And he is convinced that our marriage is merely a convenient arrangement to me. How can he be so wrong? How can he have so much faith in me to save him and still not know the reason why?”

Now that he was able to understand, Nori allowed himself a small smile and pulled the hobbit into a warm hug. When he felt the shivering lessen, he breathed, “Because he loves you too, Bilbo. He loves you with all his heart and his trust in you is boundless.”

At that revelation Bilbo closed his eyes, buried his face in Nori’s shoulder and allowed his friend to hold him while he wept.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

It took quite some time for the hobbit’s tears to dry out. But after a while, he pulled back, blew his nose and asked, “How do you prove yourself worthy of a dwarf’s love?”

Hesitating a moment, Nori suggested, “By defending his honour.”

After a moment of pondering, Bilbo nodded and stepped back.

When he entered the barn, most dwarrows were looking at him. They straightened up when Bilbo took his coat and put on his armour, fastening his weapons belt over it, and ordered, “Oín, Fíli, Kíli, you will stay here and look after Thorin. Bombur, you will make sure to supply them with something Thorin will be able to stomach. I have faith in you that you will have him ready for our departure when we return.”

 

With cold eyes he looked at the others and ordered, “As for the rest, up you go! We are going on a hunt.”

“What?” … “What are you hunting?”

Despite having received their orders, Fíli and Kíli felt inquisitive, but they lowered their eyes again, when Bilbo glared back, informing them coldly, “Slave traders.”

The sun was climbing the sky and usually Bilbo would be preparing second breakfast at this time of the day. But today eight dwarrows and one hobbit mounted their ponies and headed towards the village again. As Balin had told Bilbo, the slave traders had departed the day before; but with a wagon and two human slaves to slow them down, it was unlikely that they would be able to outrun the pursuing dwarrows. They would find them and then they would pay for what they had done to Bilbo’s husband!

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

Midday was through and despite having missed every meal today, Bilbo didn’t feel hungry. The fury seemed to fuel him and when they finally laid eyes on the wagon of the slave traders, Bilbo urged his pony on to reach them all the faster.

Finally seeing the humans that had hurt their prince so much, the dwarrows charged them with a war cry. What followed was not even a real battle since three humans were no match for eight well-armed dwarrows.

Bifur and Bofur held the one on his knees who had snickered when Bilbo had commanded Thorin for the first time unsuccessfully. Ori and Dori held the second, while Dwalin had the trader who had beaten Thorin the day before in a headlock.

Gloin and Balin were taking care of the remaining two slaves who had been sitting huddled in the far end of their cage, shaking with fear.

Dwalin jerked the abusive slave trader’s head further back, choking him, while snarling spitefully, “What do you want to do with them, Bilbo?”

There was no warmth left in Bilbo’s eyes when he drew his dagger and approached the first slaver. Coldly he whispered, “Kill them.”

But before he could reach his first victim, he felt a strong arm circling his chest from behind and heard Nori’s quiet voice in his ear. “Don’t do this, Bilbo. This is not you. Don’t burden your soul with the annihilation of another life.”

“They deserve to die!”

Bilbo was barely coherent at this point and it took Nori a surprising amount of strength to hold their hobbit back. But the dwarf knew that Bilbo would never be able to forgive himself if he killed three people in cold blood. No matter how much they deserved it.

“They do. I know they do, Bilbo. But you don’t deserve such a stain on your soul. You are better than this. Yavanna made her children pure and untainted. Don’t do this, they are not worth it.”

Bilbo pressed out between clenched teeth, “They deserve punishment! What they did to him was inhuman!”

Tightening his grip once again, Nori sighed, “Yes, they do. They deserve the harshest punishment you can come up with, and if you want us to kill them, just give the order. We are yours, Bilbo, at your service, at your every command. But this is not you, my friend. Remember who you are and pick a punishment that enables you to look at yourself in the mirror tomorrow.”

Leaning against Nori’s grip, he needed to feel the strong arms of his friend that tried to protect him from himself. Bilbo closed his eyes after a moment breathing deeply to calm himself. When he opened them again, he relaxed in Nori’s arms, nodding for his friend to release him.

Lowly he ordered, “Get me some salted water.”

 

Predatorily he approached the three humans. “If I were a dwarf and not the royal consort of Thorin Oakenshield,” he told them coldly, “I would gladly take your lives now. But my friend here has convinced me that this is not my way. So if you want to continue your wretched existence, I suggest you hold very, very still.”

Pulling one of his throwing knives free, he grabbed the first trader by the back of his head and cut precise letters into his forehead. When he was through with the first – who had nearly screamed his ears off – he went to the second who struggled viciously, but had no chance to free himself form Dori and Ori’s vice grip. The youngest dwarf had found unexpected strength and cold determination in this fight. He adored Thorin too much to allow anything to come between his tormentors and their punishment.

The third trader who was held by Dwalin tried to bargain for his freedom. With sweet words and promises to change his ways, to be better, pick up honourable work, he tried to appease Bilbo, but the hobbit was deaf to his pleading. Looking at Dwalin, he took twice as long with this one as he had with the others and the blood from the wounds on his forehead ran in rivulets over the slave trader’s face, blinding him.

When Bilbo was through, Nori offered the salted water he had demanded and Bilbo poured the liquid over all of the traders’ foreheads, erasing the small chance for the wounds he had caused to heal without leaving a scar. Two of them fainted and the last one was so weak on his knees that he fell over as soon as Bifur and Bofur let go of him.

Turning his back towards them, Bilbo instructed, “Search them for money and give it to the slaves. With that and the carriage they should find a way to make it to the next village and make a fresh start.”

Tiredly he rubbed his blade clean and only when it was spotless did he put it back in his arm-sheath. He had already mounted his pony, when a dirty hand reached for his. The two slaves, male and female, looked at him in awe. “Thank you for everything you have done. Please, tell us who you are, so that we can pray for you.”

Looking at them, forcing a smile on his face, Bilbo sighed, “I am Bilbo Baggins, the royal consort of Thorin Oakenshield of the Blue Mountains. My husband had been abducted and this was nothing but just punishment. You don’t have to be afraid any more. You are free now.”

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

The journey back to the barn was silent and Bilbo fell back more and more with each mile they covered. Finally it was him and the sons of Fundin at the back of their little train. Despondent that he might have let his friends down in their desire for revenge on behalf of their prince, he said, “You think I should have killed him. That I made the wrong decision.”

Yet Dwalin contradicted him. “The punishment you chose suits you. You are a good person, Bilbo Baggins. The best I have ever met in all my life. You put an entire Mountain of people before your own happiness.” When Bilbo tried to protest, Dwalin raised his hand to be allowed to continue. “You didn’t know that it would turn out well in the end. You just had faith. That does not lessen your sacrifice in my eyes. I am proud to carry out any decision you make, since I know it will be just.”

“Besides,” Balin smiled at the hobbit from his right, “those men will have a really hard time, without money, without weapons and the word ‘Thief’ carved into their foreheads. Nobody offers work to thieves easily. You have forced them to fall a long way and it will be entirely up to them to either be willing to humiliate themselves and take the lowest jobs, or to starve to death. In the end it doesn’t matter either way, since they will have to walk the path you set them upon for the rest of their lives. Even if the lives of man are shorter than ours, they will suffer enough before they meet their maker.”

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

When the three of them finally entered the barn, the word of what had happened seemed to have spread and Bilbo felt his ears redden at the admiring looks his dwarrows were bestowing upon him. Hiding his face in embarrassment, he was forced to look up again when Fíli and Kíli approached him.

In unison the princes’ sank to their knees and reached for Bilbo’s hands. Both kissed them and pressed their forehead against his knuckles, before looking up. It was Fíli who served as voice for both of them, but from the looks of it, Kíli was in total agreement with his brother. “Thank you, Bilbo, for restoring our uncle’s honour by punishing his captors.”

Looking around helplessly, since this somehow felt very official, despite them being in a barn, ruffled and tired from a far too short night, Bilbo met Balin’s eyes. The latter only nodded approvingly, mouthing a ‘thank you’ at the hobbit.

Smiling down at the young princes, Bilbo made a small bow. “Thank you, Fíli and Kíli. But now let’s see how Thorin is doing, shall we?”

A shadow seemed to fall over the princes’ faces when Bilbo mentioned Thorin and instantly the hobbit’s worries returned full force. “Has he vomited again?”

“How?” Kíli exhaled desperately, “He hasn’t eaten anything.”

Gesturing towards the darkest corner of the barn, Fíli explained, “He woke up an hour ago but all he did was fight us and hide in the corner. We can’t get him to drink or eat anything, despite Bombur making mashed carrots again. That was the only food he was able to stomach when he was sick in the Shire.”

“He won’t even rest,” Kíli added. “Every time one of us approaches him, he fights his way up to his feet, clawing at the wall to keep himself upright.”

Clearly the young dwarrows were at the end of their tether. But Bilbo wouldn’t let Thorin starve himself to death. The dwarf needed sustenance, so that was exactly what he would be getting. Asking for a small bowl of carrots form Bombur, taking the offered bread for himself, Bilbo picked up a waterskin and approached his husband.

As the boys had predicted, Thorin fought his way up from the ground, snarling warily at Bilbo. His eyes were swollen shut, but the cuts in his face had been cleaned and he looked much better without all the blood staining his skin. Avoiding a direct confrontation, Bilbo slid down the wall about a foot away from Thorin, putting the water and food to the ground, starting to nibble on his bread roll.

Thorin inhaled deeply and asked tentatively, “Bilbo?”

“Yes, Thorin?”

“Am I … am I dreaming again?”

“If I said ‘yes’ would you eat something?”

Sliding down the wall as well, breathing out a weak smile, Thorin reminded the hobbit. _> If I am dreaming it wouldn’t matter if I ate.<_

_> You would feel better.<_

Slowly edging closer to the hobbit until they were sitting side by side, Thorin hesitated for a moment, before he laid his head on Bilbo’s shoulder. “Dreaming about you always makes me feel better.”

“Would you still eat? For me?”

With a nod Thorin held out his hand, so that Bilbo could place the bowl with the carrot mash in it. Putting the spoon in Thorin’s other hand, he watched his husband eat. When the bowl was empty, Thorin put his head on Bilbo’s shoulder again. _> When I wake up the slavers will beat me again. They punish me because I won’t kneel before them. But I can’t. I am an heir of the Line of Durin, I kneel only before my king.<_ On an afterthought he added, “And before you. There is no shame in kneeling before my husband. Because I love you, you know? I know you don’t feel the same, that’s why I never said anything, but I really do love you.

“Will you be there when I open my eyes again?”

Biting back a sob, Bilbo nodded, shifting his body to accommodate that of his husband who now rested peacefully in his lap. Gently caressing Thorin’s sticky strands, he curled around his dwarf, finally allowing the bone deep fatigue to catch up with him. He barely noticed the blanket Fíli pulled over the both of them and the bustling of the others who prepared their departure. He and Thorin were finally together again, everything else could wait.

 

\- ϾѺϿ -

 

When Bilbo woke a few hours later, the dwarrows offered food for him and Thorin again and urged him on his pony so that they could reach the Blue Mountains as fast as possible. Thorin, still weak and barely cognizant of what was happening around him, fought valiantly when Dwalin tried to hold him in the saddle before him. Only when he and Bilbo traded ponies, allowing Thorin to cling onto Bilbo, was the dwarf calm enough for the journey. It took the hobbit some getting used to, handling a deadweight leaning against his back, but after a few hours he managed.

 

Once back in the Blue Mountains, they brought Thorin to his room, allowing Oín an extensive check-up. But all things considered, the prince was healing well. Bilbo took his time, enjoying an extensive bath after all his extensive travels. He prepared meals and ventured to the raven valley while Thráin, Dís or the boys were sitting at Thorin’s bedside.

It took Thorin three nights to come around, but by morning the fourth day he was sitting in their little kitchen, watching Bilbo preparing breakfast. The hobbit was making scones with fresh butter, a part of Thorin's favourite meal for the morning since bacon and eggs would be too heavy for him right now. But somehow the atmosphere between the spouses was tense. Thorin remembered only very little of the last two weeks. The pain was dominant in his mind, as were his dreams about Bilbo. But he could not recall when the dreams had ended and reality had kicked in. Everything lay in a haze caused by starvation and the torture he had been forced to endure.

 

So they ate in silence. Afterwards, when Bilbo had put away everything, leaving the kitchen spotless, the hobbit slid onto the bench, facing his husband. Only, he didn't look him in the eye: Bilbo's eyes were lowered to his fingers that kept rubbing over his rune or fumbled with the bracelet Thorin had given him. Slightly worried, Thorin asked, "Bilbo, what … what is wrong?"

Taking a fortifying breath, the hobbit admitted quietly, "The day I … got you back from these horrible men, you were a little beside yourself. And … and you said something, something that has bothered me greatly ever since." Finally looking at his husband, Bilbo admitted, "Something went wrong, Thorin. Between our engagement and our wedding something went very wrong. I made this terrible mistake and I don't know how to rectify it."

Thorin lifted his hand to interrupt Bilbo. He had admitted to many things in his dreams, to the hallucination of a hobbit, for it had been the only thing that had given him the strength to endure the never-ending punishments. Apparently he had shared his feelings with his husband as well.

Ignoring the dread that pooled in his stomach, Thorin swallowed heavily and forced the words out of his tightening throat. "It doesn't matter, Bilbo. I always knew that it would bother you if I shared too much of my feelings. That's why I kept them mostly to myself. I didn't want you to feel uncomfortable or obliged to return them. I can assure you, I am content with what we have and if you could find it in you, we can simply ignore the babbles of my hazy mind."

Rising from the bench, hesitating for a moment before kissing his husband's forehead, Thorin chose a strategic retreat before he would break down completely. He felt he was by far not up to a confrontation where his husband would tell him that Thorin's love for him was a 'terrible mistake'.

 

Dazed, only slowly catching up with what had just happened, after a few heartbeats Bilbo scrambled after Thorin.

How, by everything that was sacred, could his husband be so dense? "Thorin, stop!"

Bilbo was glad to see that at that command his husband froze at the door of the living room, even though he didn't turn around. After everything he had said, everything they had been though, how could Thorin think that Bilbo was rejecting him? He had even gone after the slave traders, giving in to violent impulses he hadn't even known he possessed, to avenge his husband’s honour, as it was customary in dwarvish society.

Working up an exasperated anger, Bilbo demanded to know, "Why are you leaving? Why don't you let me even finish what I have only begun to say? Why are you always jumping to the worst conclusions, always pulling back? You don't even know what I wanted to tell you."

Turning around, Thorin leaned against the doorframe, drained by the overwhelming emotions this interaction was bringing up. "Of course I do. I couldn't keep my mouth shut and now you feel obligated, and that's not how it should be."

Slowly Bilbo approached his exhausted husband. Even though in that very moment all he wanted to do was hug him and postpone this, the hobbit continued since this conversation had long since been overdue. Slowly he lifted his hand and tenderly cupped Thorin's cheek. "How can you love me so much and understand me so little?"

When his husband flinched as if Bilbo had slapped him, by calling him on his feelings, the hobbit raised his second hand, holding his dwarf's face between his palms, caressing his cheeks. "I have done a great many things, really anything I could think of, to show you how I felt about you. I cooked for you and mended your clothes. I tried my best to show interest in your work and support you whenever I could. I think I really used every opportunity to show you how much you mean to me."

Trying to free his face, Thorin lowered his eyes, whispering brokenly, "I know what I mean to you. You said it time and time again: I am your best friend."

"No," Bilbo interrupted him. "You don't know what you mean to me, and since you are no hobbit, you don't understand my gestures. I never spelled it out for you, and that was my mistake and I am so very, very sorry, my love." Tenderly caressing his husband's cheeks, the hobbit smiled when Thorin’s gaze flickered up at him after this new endearment. How had he not seen the desperation in Thorin's eyes, the longing for the confirmation of a feeling that had been with them nearly from the start?

"Thorin, please look at me. From this day on, I want there not to be the slightest doubt in your mind when it comes to how I feel about you."

When the dwarf finally met his eyes, Bilbo smiled at him with all the love and all the adoration he felt in his heart. "I love you. You are my best friend, the most important person in my life. I can't imagine being without you for a single day. And I will make sure that you will never, ever have to doubt my feelings ever again. This isn't … never was a mere 'arrangement' for me, since I lost my heart to you when we were still in the Shire. I might not have realized it, but from the day I met you at my doorstep, my fate was sealed."

For a heartbeat Thorin was stunned by his husband’s words, unable to believe them because he wanted them so very much to be true. Then he swallowed heavily and gasped, "What?"

Smiling up at his swaying husband, who looked terrified and hopeful at the same time, Bilbo pulled him down for a loving kiss and whispered against his mouth, "I love you, Thorin Oakenshield, with all my heart."

Wrapping his arms around his hobbit, Thorin pulled Bilbo as close as possible, sliding down, because his legs would no longer carry him. These words were all he had wanted to hear ever since Bilbo’s proposal, everything he needed to be happy. Thorin buried his face in the crook of Bilbo’s neck, inhaling the earth and lavender and sunshine scent of his husband and for this one moment, his life was perfect.

 

\- Ͼ♥Ͽ -

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank each and every one of you who have been with me for the better part of this last year. You will never know how much your comments elevated me through my days and helped me have fun when writing. Good things always are better when you share them. And this story is the best things I have ever written and I am happy that so many of you had fun with me along the way.

**Author's Note:**

> My betareader once told me that I could have done this story all by myself. You may be right Redone, I could have, but it would not have been the amazing piece of art we have created together.  
> Words will never express how much this story and your endless support means to me so I will simply have to say: Thank You!


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